Rumor Has It
by scarylolita
Summary: Kyle isn't the same after death strikes the Broflovski family and Stan doesn't know how to help. One year later, things keep getting worse. To top it off, the grade 12 trip is approaching and schoolyard drama begins adding to the list of things Stan has to worry about. Slash, warnings inside.
1. Prologue

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**All in Stan's POV~ This is just the prologue, so there will be a time skip in the next chapter.**

**Warnings:**** mental illness, death, addiction, mentions of non-con, mentions of suicide, lotsa sloppy sex  
><strong>**Main pairings:**** Kyle/Stan & Kenny/Craig  
><strong>**Side pairings:**** Kenny/Stan, Jason/Craig, Kyle/Rebecca, Cartman/Wendy, Bebe/Clyde, Token/Nichole**

* * *

><p>Kyle drank too much and now he's going crazy. I'm home alone and I don't know what to do. He's screaming and crying and he just puked on my bedroom floor. Something happened. It's something bad but he won't tell me what. He won't tell me what's wrong and I'm scared. I'm scared for him but I'm scared for myself, too.<p>

"K-Kyle," I try to reason with him. "Come on, talk to me… I don't know what I'm supposed to do here…"

He's kneeling on the floor staring down at the mess he made on the carpet. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…" he moans miserably, clutching his head.

"Kyle, _please_!" I nearly shout. This isn't like him.

He stares at me from his place on the floor, giving me the most helpless look I've ever seen. "I fucked up, Stan…" he whispers, sobbing out the words. "Oh, God… I really fucked up…"

"How?" I ask weakly. The truth is, I haven't seen Kyle all week. Exams are approaching and he's usually absent around this time of year. Being the keener he is, he likes to get ahead of the game and study more than necessary… but I have a feeling this year won't be the same. I have a feeling he won't be raking in straight A's. Something happened… something really bad.

But still, he won't say a word. It's like, somehow, he can't. Maybe the reality of it all is just too much to sink in. That thought alone causes my head to hurt.

"I didn't mean to…" he sniffles before being overcome with another wave of sobs.

"Didn't mean to what?" I pry, slowly and cautiously kneeling behind him. I put a hand on his back as he continues to stare down at his puke.

Before I can try to coax out any more answers, the doorbell rings. I stand up and leave the room, running downstairs to open the door. I'm surprised to see two cops standing in front of me.

"Hello?" I ask meekly.

"We're looking for seventeen year old Kyle Broflovski," one starts. "We were told he might be hiding here."

"He's upstairs," I respond quietly, knowing it wouldn't be in my best interest to lie to the police. Apart from that I can still hear him wailing. I'm sure the cops can hear it, too. "He's not _hiding_. Can I ask what this is all about?"

"A body was found," they reveal.

And the rest happens in slow motion – like some dramatic and tragic scene from a film. I watch as they take Kyle away, loading him in the back of a cop car. Just like that and I'm left full of questions – some of which I have a feeling won't be answered for a long time.

* * *

><p>By now, everyone knows the story – or at least how the newspapers told it.<p>

Ike is dead. He drowned in Stark's Pond – a place that once held so many happy childhood memories. I doubt Kyle will be able to step foot there ever again. I don't know why Kyle blames himself. I haven't seen him since. He's been refusing company… but he can't hide forever.

"I'm freezing!" Kenny chatters, white puffs of smoke leaving his mouth. "My nipples could cut glass right now!"

I force a smile, knowing he's trying to get a laugh but all I can think about is Kyle. Cartman is silent. He hasn't been talking any shit about Kyle lately, either. Everyone has been strangely quiet. Death hits South Park quite frequently. It has even hit me before, but every single damn time it feels a hell of a lot different. If I feel this shitty, I can't even begin to imagine how Kyle feels.

Some redneck senior kids drive by in a rusty pick-up truck. "Suck my dick, McCormick!" one shouts, sticking his head out of the window and flipping the bird.

"Oh, yeah? Why don't you come out here and let me?" Kenny shouts back, twice as aggressively. "Pansies," he adds once they're gone. "Once you have my mouth around yah dick, you ain't gonna want nothin' else."

"TMI, you poor piece of shit," Cartman mumbles, but the insult is lackluster.

I roll my eyes, paying them all little mind. It's the first day of exams and Kyle nowhere in sight. Soon, the bus pulls up and we all board – without Kyle. The ride doesn't take long and soon we pull into the high school parking lot.

In a linear fashion, everyone piles into the gymnasium and the teachers seat us alphabetically. Kyle shows up in the last minute looking like road kill. He's usually so put together in khakis and sweaters, but not now. He looks like he just rolled out of bed and didn't bother changing out of his pajamas.

Kenny nudges me as a teacher sits Kyle behind Token. "Look at his eyes," he whispers. "He's been crying again."

"No fucking shit," I mutter. "Wouldn't you?"

"It wasn't even his damn fault…" Kenny murmurs.

I just shrug. "We don't know that, dude."

"He turned eighteen in May," Kenny mentions. "If he fucked up this bad, he wouldn't be sitting here about to take an exam. He'd be in jail for murder."

I wrinkle my nose at that. In reality, it doesn't matter that it was or wasn't Kyle's fault. His little brother is dead and he blames himself. That blame has a pretty strong hold on him and it doesn't seem like it'll be letting go any time soon. It's a shame, really.

The principal gets up on the podium, reading out the examination rules. Everyone listens with dull interest until we're told we can begin.

* * *

><p>Kyle manages to finish first. I wonder if it's because he knew the material or if he just didn't care. Honestly, it could be either at this point.<p>

After I finish, I find Kyle outside smoking a cigarette – an ugly habit he picked up when we were twelve. No matter how many times I've told him to stop, he won't. Now I'm sure he's even less inclined to quit.

"Hey, dude…" I greet him gently. He grunts some kind of response, nodding at me. "Where've you been?" I ask after a moment's pause.

"Home," he says, sounding hoarser than usual. Kyle fucked up his vocal cords. I don't know if it's because of all the screaming he did when he was a kid or what. The cigarettes probably don't help, either. He takes another puff, closing his eyes as he inhales. He turns his head as the smoke escapes, knowing I hate when it gets in my face.

"I tried seeing you…" I mention, staring at him.

"I know," he says simply.

I guess he just doesn't care.

* * *

><p>On Friday, Jason has a party in celebration of the end of the school year. The only reason I'm here is because Kyle is. He gets very drunk very fast. I can't help but see myself when I look at him. I used to be the one with the alcohol problem, but I try not to indulge myself these days since, on top of having depression, I'm also prone to addiction. I hope he doesn't make this a habit.<p>

I spot him on the sofa making out with Bebe. She's always had a soft spot for him and his backside. Right now, she's all hands. I guess it's nothing new. Kyle has had lots of sex. He's had more than me and Cartman put together, but probably not more than Kenny.

Kyle still has a Jewfro, but it's not as big and messy as it was when we were kids. He keeps his curls short and neat these days. He's tall and pale and slender and good looking, with a nice jaw. Girls seem to like that.

When they part, Kyle starts sobbing openly. For a moment, Bebe looks taken aback. Then she simply wraps her arms around him, pulling him close. I watch them dully, wishing he'd allow me to be the one to comfort him. I'm his best fuckin' friend and I seem to be the one person he _won't_ cry on.

I shake it off and walk away. Wendy and Cartman are smooching in the hallway, much to my dismay. My breakup with Wendy was hardly a surprise. It's no secret these days that I'm a huge fag. It was unfair of me to make her act as my beard for all those years.

When we were fourteen a group of seniors made me and Kyle do it. The gay test. So, Kyle lied down and I draped myself over him and obviously we both got boners when we started grinding on each other. With the right stimulation, you can't really help it. So, we failed. They laughed. That was that. It wasn't overly traumatic. "It don't mean shit," Kenny had tried to reassure me. "Obviously if you're being rubbed there's a chance you're gonna get hard." A week later I admitted to the guys that I was actually a homo. They were all fine with it. That story is infamous. I think every kid in the damn school knows it by now, embarrassingly enough.

At the end of the hallway, there's an open door. I can hear whiny sounds of pleasure coming from inside. I near it, half expecting to see Kenny… but I don't. Instead, I see Craig on his back being fucked missionary style by Jason… Jason, of all people! I didn't even think he liked boys. Then again maybe he's just shallow – the kind of guy who will go after anyone he deems cute enough. "_Nnn_… more…" Craig moans. He has his arms carelessly tossed over his head as he writhes around. The room is dim and the both of them look completely oblivious to my presence. Nonetheless I mutter an awkward apology and leave. What a disturbing sight.

Rumor has it Craig can have multiple orgasms. Maybe Jason sees him as a conquest.

I move into the basement where another crowd of kids are hanging. There's a cloud of smoke wafting around the room and the smell of weed is strong. Here, I spot Kenny. Lola is sitting on his lap and everyone in the room is passing around a bong.

I want to leave. None of this is my scene. I'm not one for pointless hook ups or drugs or too much alcohol. I find these kinds of parties intimidating. I'm not extroverted like Kenny. I've only had two drinks tonight. I'm not quite sober, but I'm not smashed either like most of the kids here. Still... I want to be. I want to keep drinking. I want to drink 'til I'm numb. But I won't. I need to control myself.

"Stan!" Kenny calls me over when he sees me. He pats the leg Lola isn't sitting on and winks at me. "Saved you a spot."

Horny pervert. He's been offering me a roll on the sack since Wendy dumped me. I always say no, but maybe it doesn't really matter. I probably need someone to remove the stick from my ass. I'm sourer than Craig Tucker these days… but clearly he's getting laid. I'm not.

Fuck it. I move into the room and sit on Kenny's lap. "Look at all my bitches," he says, pinching my ass and then grabbing one of Lola's tits. She gives him a tight smile, cupping a hand over his crotch and giving it a particularly rough looking squeeze.

"Aw, fuck!" he grunts. "Don't be like that, babe, I was just playin'!"

She rolls her eyes. "Are we going to get this show on the road, or what?"

Kenny smirks at her before glancing at me. "What do yah say, Stan? You up for a threesome?"

I could say no. Kenny wouldn't be surprised. He'd just nod and wander off with Lola. Or… I could say yes. Kenny would be surprised. He'd take us both into the nearest empty room and I'd get laid for the first time in two years. So, I say, "All right."

Lola chuckles at that, pinching one of my cheeks and cooing, "You're the cutest!"

So, the three of us stand up. Kenny tosses an arm around Lola and an arm around me, escorting us to the nearest vacant room. It looks like a guest bedroom. There's a double sized bed in the center, a nightstand with a lamp and a dresser along with a closet. There's a painting of an ocean above the bedframe. It's pretty lifeless. Kenny turns off the lights, turning the lamp on instead.

I feel like at least half of the student body has seen this side of Kenny. Soon enough, I'll be no different. I'll be a name on his list of fucks.

Lola and Kenny begin undressing unceremoniously. I can't help but wonder if they've slept together before. Probably. I shrug it off and follow their lead, shedding my clothes. Part of me feels incredibly self-conscious. I've only ever slept with two people – Wendy and some random senior at a party when I was fourteen. It was mere days after Wendy dumped me. It's yet another reason I don't like to drink heavily and partake in random hook ups. It was a bad night and I still regret it.

But I guess this isn't so random. It's just Kenny… well, and Lola.

Lola is the first in bed. She lies on her back, her head resting against a pillow. Kenny winks at her before turning to me. "Lie next to her," he instructs. I do so, praying to God I'm not blushing.

"You up for the challenge, McCormick?" Lola teases. "Gonna get us both off?"

"Oh, babe," he simpers. "You know I will." When he joins us, he doesn't hesitate to let his hands start roaming. I rest my arm over my face, closing my eyes and trying to get lost in it. I try to forget that there's a girl lying next to me and that she's probably watching me.

Clearly, Kenny can multitask. He has no problem fingering a girl while jerking me off. I wonder how many people he has slept with. Probably at least thirty. By just his hands, I can tell he's experienced… but he's never had a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. He's never been in a relationship. I wonder if he wants one, or if he just enjoys this more. The person who Kenny is willing to settle down for… would probably have to be pretty damn special. Rumor has it, Kenny McCormick never settles.

However many minutes later, Lola's moans grow frantic and I can feel her squirming around next to me. Mere seconds later, I can hear sloppy kissing sounds. Part of me hopes she leaves after because I think I'm having performance anxiety. I'm hard, but nowhere close to cumming. I open my eyes. The fingers that were in Lola are now in Kenny's mouth. "Mm," he says, staring down at her.

She stares up at him in return before nodding towards his neglected erection. "Want me to…?" she offers vaguely.

"Nah," he says with a smile. "Run along." She shrugs it off, getting out of bed a moment later and throwing on her clothes. When she's gone, it's just me and Kenny. "Relax, Stan," he says in a strangely gentle tone. "Wanna have sex?" he asks a split second later. "I've got a condom in my pocket."

I guess Kenny is the kind of guy who travels prepared. "All right," I murmur. Fuck it. I've already gone this far. I may as well try to at least get a good orgasm out of it.

So, he gets out of bed and digs through his discarded clothes. When he's back in bed, he rolls on the condom, kneeling between my legs. He plays with my ass for a few minutes, touching me in ways no one has ever touched me. For fuck's sake, I've never even touched myself like this… but it feels good. Really good. Clearly Kenny knows exactly what he's doing. He touches all the right spots.

After lubing up, he plows in. It doesn't hurt like I thought it would. "Shit," he laughs in near disbelief, "I've been wanting to fuck you for _years_."

"I know," I say simply.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks.

"Of course," I tell him.

He bends down and I feel his lips on mine and his tongue in my mouth. We kiss sloppily and it feels good to be close to someone. I haven't been this close to anyone in a long time. I've missed it. I've missed everything about it.

And just when I'm about to cum, the door opens. Kyle, Wendy and Cartman all pile inside. Kyle is crying again.

Is this what orgasm denial feels like? Christ!

"Oh, shit!" Wendy exclaims, putting her palms over her eyes when she sees the state I'm in. Meanwhile, Cartman just cackles at us, digging out his phone and taking a picture. Kenny joins him, laughing shamelessly and striking a peace sign.

_Click. _

"For _fuck's_ sake!" I snap angrily at our most recent visitors. "Get the hell out!" I try to sit up, but Kenny puts a hand on my chest, keeping me in place.

Kyle looks completely unaware of what I'm currently in the middle of doing. Instead of heeding my advice, he wanders to the bedside and hovers over me. "Stan, I wanna leave…" he whines.

"He won't stop crying," Wendy says, palms still covering her eyes. "We've been looking for you…"

"Why me?" I ask, seething and burning with shame.

"You're his best friend," she says.

I let out an impatient sigh. "Fine, just get the hell out. Leave him here. I'll take him home after I'm done."

Kenny is smiling. He looks thoroughly humored. He shoes Cartman and Wendy out before turning to Kyle. "Hey, pal," he says in a somewhat patronizing tone. "Look, I'm gonna finish fucking your super best friend in the ass and then he'll take you home. Okay?"

"Okay," Kyle whimpers, pressing his face into my chest. I'm pretty sure the words flew right over his head. I can feel his curly hair tickling my skin and I shudder. The entire experience just got weirder – as if it wasn't weird enough already. Kenny laughs, grabbing my hips. It's strange seeing him like this. It's strange letting him… well… dominate me. And the fact that I'm a bit drunk is just making this seem like a surreal experience.

"Shit, shit…" I moan, stroking myself frantically as Kenny quickens his pace. So, it happens like this: I end up cumming with Kyle crying all over me and I'm pretty sure some of my jizz hits his face. This has probably been the most awkward orgasm of my life.

Kyle sobs and sniffles and Kenny continues fucking me for a few minutes. God, what a scene.

"K-Kyle…?" I say his name, stuttering as Kenny quickens his pace severely. He lets out a groan, refusing to raise his head. "Dude…" I start awkwardly. "You need to stand up." He groans again, but does as I ask. When Kenny finally nuts, he pulls out and disposes of the condom, dropping it in the garbage bin sitting in the corner of the room. I sit up and Kyle lies on the floor.

"Try not to pass out," I mutter. "You're a lot taller than me and I doubt I could carry you back."

"Shut up, Stan!" he whines in a high pitched slur.

I click my tongue at him, not bothering to wipe myself off before I get redressed. Kenny does the same and then helps me force Kyle onto his feet. I grimace when I see a patch of spooge on his cheek. I wipe it off with my shirt sleeve and Kenny snickers. "Oh, shit…" I say with a sigh.

"Want me to walk you guys home?" he offers.

"Nah," I murmur. "Go have more fun. It's not even midnight yet. I'll take this asshole back to my house."

"Be nice to him," Kenny says humbly. "He's in a lot of pain."

"I'm always nice," I insist, taking Kyle's hand in mine as the three of us leave the room. We part ways with Kenny when we go upstairs, throwing our coats and shoes back on. I help Kyle tie his laces and then we leave.

He starts crying again during the walk home and he doesn't stop. He's so fucking loud all I can do is thank God my parents aren't asleep. He definitely would've woken them up. As soon as we stroll through my front door, my parents glance our way. My mom looks sympathetic. Just like everyone else in this damn town, they know Ike drowned. Fortunately, they don't ask questions, but I can feel their eyes as I take Kyle upstairs.

He kicks off his shoes when we're in my bedroom. I do the same, placing them in the corner so no one will trip. I hang our coats off my desk chair and say, "I'll get you some water."

"I want a shower," he decides in that same, high pitched voice he's been using all night. I guess it shows how fucking drunk he is. I doubt he'll remember any of this tomorrow. That's probably for the best. I don't enjoy exhibitionism and I don't want him to have the memory of me cleaning my jizz off his cheek. He'd probably be disgusted by me and I don't want that to happen.

"All right," I sigh, walking him to the bathroom. I turn on the taps and go fetch him some water while the shower gets hot.

When I return, he's naked and hunched over the toilet bowl. Not a pretty sight. Shelly is standing in the doorway, gritting her teeth at him. No sympathy. "Control your stupid turd of a friend!" she demands, seething. "I know he's grieving, he's being too loud and I need to sleep! I work tomorrow morning!"

"Sorry," I mutter and she walks back to her own room with a scoff. I set the glass down next to the sink and grab a towel from the linen closet, draping it over him. "Dude… you good?" I ask slowly, shutting the door and locking it for good measure.

"No!" he exclaims, as if the answer should be obvious. He starts sobbing harshly, staring at me with confusion. "Why did I drink that much, Stan?" His voice is high pitched and really whiny.

"Because you're hurting," I tell him.

"No, I'm not!" he yells. "I'm just drunk!" He stands up and the towel pools at his feet. I sigh, picking it up.

I haven't seen Kyle naked since we were prepubescent. He's definitely grown up in all the right places. I know now isn't the time for perverted observations, but I can't help but take note of Kyle's ass – nice and firm. Bebe was onto something. Though… he'd probably hate for his faggy best friend to be thinking this kind of shit.

I check the taps and say, "Kyle, get in. It's hot." I offer him my hands and help him inside.

"It's _too_ hot, Stan!" he whines, moving into the corner of the shower where the water can't reach him.

I try not to get impatient. I simply adjust the taps and ask, "Better?"

"Now it's too cold!" he shouts.

"Fucking hell, Kyle, I don't care!" I retort coldly before I can help it.

He looks at me with a hurt expression. "Why do you hate me so much?" he asks wetly. "Why are you so mad?"

"No… I don't hate you and I'm not mad," I say calmly. "I'm sorry I snapped at you."

When I turn away to grab the towel I hear a squeak followed by a yelp and a bang. I don't need to piece it together. Kyle fell. I peel back the curtains again and see him lying in the tub.

I turn off the taps. "Dude…" I say, shaking him. "Get up or I'll have to take you to the hospital. Seriously, Kyle, I will. You might have fuckin' alcohol poisoning…"

"Nooo…" he moans.

I grab one of his arms, forcing him to sit up. Grabbing the glass of water from the counter, I make him to sip on it. As he does, I dry his hair before wrapping the towel around his shoulders.

I guess I got my wish. Kyle came to me for comfort… though this is hardly what I had in mind. I guess I shouldn't complain. I don't want other people to see him like this. As possessive as it sounds, it makes me jealous when other people see him vulnerable. I want to take care of him and do all the shit a best friend is supposed to do.

"Dude, I fuckin' swear to God if you don't stand up in five seconds I'm gonna get my dad to come up here and carry you out," I warn. It's an empty threat, though. Me and my father don't really talk.

So, I manage to pull Kyle to his feet and help him out of the tub. I dry him off like one would a child and walk him across the hall. Back in my room, he forgets clothes all together and immediately crawls onto my bed. I kill the lights, removing my jeans and sweater before doing the same. As soon as I lie down next to him, he shifts towards me.

"I'm sorry," he whispers wetly, putting his arms around me and hugging me like a fuckin' stuffed animal. "Sorry, Stan… I'm sorry…"

"It's fine, dude," I say with a sigh, forcing myself to relax in his hold.

Come morning, I hope things will be back to normal.

* * *

><p>I wake up free of headaches. Kyle, I'm sure, won't be as lucky. He's still thoroughly unconscious and his arms are still locked around me. He's warm. For a few minutes I stay still in his hold and pretend this is something we do all the time. Fuck, I wish it was. I want this to be the kind of thing he does sober. Some moments later, I force myself out of bed as gently as I can, trying not to wake him up. In my t-shirt and boxers, I go downstairs and grab a banana. My parents are sitting at the table drinking coffee.<p>

"How is Kyle?" Mom asks.

I wrinkle my nose, peeling the fruit. "He's still asleep… but he's probably gonna be in a lotta pain when he wakes. I don't think he's ever been that drunk before."

"Shame," she whispers. "What a sin."

"Keep an eye on him, yeah?" Dad suggests, probably pretending to care. "That kid isn't made of the sternest shit."

"I know," I murmur. I eat slowly and grab an ice pack, some more water and a tablet of Tylenol before going back upstairs. By now, Kyle is awake. His eyes are still closed, but he's rubbing the back of his hand across his forehead. "Here," I say. "Sit up. I brought medicine."

He does so, opening wet eyes. He downs the pill with ease and sips on the water for a minute before handing the glass back to me. I set it on the nightstand as he lies back down. I lie down with him and press the ice pack to his forehead.

"Feels good…" he murmurs hazily.

And this is how I spend the rest of the day: tending to Kyle's hangover. When he needs to puke, I hand him the mop bucket. Rinse and repeat. If this isn't true friendship, I don't know what is.

* * *

><p>Around 9PM, his hangover starts to wane. He gets up and finally puts his clothes back on before leaving the room to take a piss. When he returns, he looks like he has something to say. "What's up?" I decide to be the first to speak.<p>

"I got naked last night, huh?" he asks, hovering in the doorway.

"Yeah," I say.

He murmurs a sheepish apology and adds, "Hope I wasn't too much trouble." He wrinkles his nose. "Fuck it, I know I was. I don't remember much… I just remember crying a lot and puking and taking off my clothes."

"Shelly saw your dick and ass," I decide to tell him. "You were bent over the toilet giving her quite a view."

He grimaces. "Great…"

"She probably didn't mind," I say with a snort. We all know my sister is a fuckin' pervert.

Kyle finally steps into the room, getting back into bed with me. "Dude…" he murmurs. "Did you have sex with Kenny last night or was I just hallucinating?"

A pause. "Yes… I had sex with Kenny."

He looks thoughtful. "I remember being in the room," he admits with a bitter laugh. "I remember feeling jealous that you were paying more attention to Kenny than to me. I got really irritated with the both of you, so I kind of wormed my way between you guys."

I snort at that. "Well, his dick was in my ass. I had to at least pay a little attention to him."

"Why did you do it?" Kyle asks. "Sleep with him, I mean. Do you like him?"

"No, I just did it because he asked," I admit nonchalantly. "I know he's asked before, but I guess I was never in the mood for it. Last night, I was. Sorry if this is too much information, but… I'm really horny lately and it's slim pickings for a shy faggy guy like me. Since Kenny swings both ways, I guess I decided I'd let him have me."

It's basically true. Kenny is really good looking. I'd be blind not to notice it. He's slim, tall, tanned and fit with shaggy blond hair and blue eyes that mirror my own. I am thirsty as hell and I feel like I'm always surrounded by good looking guys – Kenny, Kyle, Clyde, Token… Sadly, they all appear to be straight apart from Kenny, but I could never date Kenny. I say this for a number of reasons. Firstly, I can't see him as anything but my friend. Secondly, he's bad at relationships. Thirdly, I'm gay for Kyle and have been for a damn long time. Apart from all that, Kenny keeps too many secrets.

"Don't berate yourself," Kyle murmurs before wondering, "Why didn't you come to me?" The words surprise me. He's never expressed interest in guys before.

"I didn't think you'd want me to…" I say slowly. "You like girls."

"You're my best friend," he starts, "and… I wouldn't mind sleeping with you. So, next time you want it, come to me. I want you to."

"All right," I agree softly. I won't ask why. I think I know. I just don't think I want to hear him say it. Some guys just want a convenient and willing hole to fuck. That makes it easy. Guys like Jason, Kenny… maybe Kyle is like that, too. I guess it doesn't matter if it's a boy or a girl. "Kyle?" I say his name. "Don't get that drunk ever again. I'm not saying it because I'm mad, I'm just saying it for your own health."

He mumbles a, "Hm," and nothing more. He rolls over so his back is facing me. I guess he's not in the mood to talk about important things.

"Look," I continue, "I know you're hurting… but you can't just run away from these things. Trust me when I say drinking doesn't help. Neither does denial. You're not supposed to deny your issues. You're supposed to deal with them. Cope. That's the only way you'll get better." I hear him sniffle a moment later. I let out a quiet sigh and start rubbing his back. "Don't you want to get better?" I ask, but he doesn't respond. Maybe it's not a matter of what he wants. Maybe it's a matter of what he thinks he deserves. So, I don't say anything else. I juts wrap an arm around him and we lie here silently.

"Ugh," he moans, sniffling some more. "Am I a bad person?"

"No," I promise. "Why would you even ask that?"

"Because…" he starts, letting out a wet sigh as he trails off. "I don't know. I'm all over the place lately. I just feel like I'm a bad person. I need reassurance."

"If you care about being a bad person you're not a bad person," I tell him. "I mean… why would a bad person want to be good? Sometimes people do shitty things. I mean, we all do. Everyone makes mistakes. It's just part of life. We have to forgive ourselves and each other and then just try our best to move on. That's what it's all about Kyle – moving on and finding that desired happiness." I press my face into the back of his shoulders. I want him to let all this shit sink in, but I know he won't. He's not ready. Maybe he won't be ready for a long time.

I don't really understand it. My grandpa died a few years ago and I moved on from it. Sure, I was sad for a long time, but I made it through. I'm okay now… but I guess, at the same time, I never felt like I played any part in his death. Kyle feels like he played a part in Ike's death and maybe that's why he's full of blame.

It's weird. Kyle was never a crier. That was me. Crybaby Stanley Marsh. Kyle is the one who always kept it together in times of crisis while I was the one to always lose it. It's weird seeing him like this. I wish I could do something more to help him, but I can't. I can't do a damn thing and it fucking sucks.


	2. One year later

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

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><p>All I can hear is music. It's loud and ambient; the kind kids who have had too much to drink might like to sway to. It's like this: Kyle's fancy lawyer dad lets him have his rich kid parties when he goes away with Sheila. As long as the cleanup is finished before they get home, they don't say a damn word about it. They feign naivety. Kyle always overdoes it and is too hung over to actually clean up, so that leaves me to pick up all the trash. It's a piss off, but no matter how many times I shout at him for it nothing ever changes. There's not really a point. I guess I'm too soft. I could just ditch him and leave him with the mess. His parents would find out and scream at him… but I don't really want that to happen. Kyle feels bad enough as it is these days. He doesn't need me to help make it worse.<p>

Kyle's mom slaps him a lot. I remember seeing her do it for the first time. I almost crapped my pants. I didn't think Sheila was the kind of woman who would ever harm her children. I don't think she knew I was there. School had just ended and I went home with Kyle. Around six, Sheila and Gerald got home. Kyle went downstairs to greet them and I heard them arguing, then it was full-on screaming. I decided I'd try to make my presence known. I thought that might've put a stop to all the noise, but as soon as I stepped into the room all I saw was Sheila's hand beat across Kyle's face. His head swung to the side, but he didn't say a word. He just put a hand on his cheek. I just stood perfectly still with my eyes wide and my mouth agape. Gerald put a stop to it before things got out of hand, but Sheila didn't apologize. She didn't say hi to me, either. She just turned around and told Kyle that he wasn't allowed visitors. So, I went home. I wanted to stay because I could read the look on Kyle's face. I knew he was going to start fuckin' crying any second, but I didn't have time to comfort him before I was shooed out.

Kyle kind of went off the deep end last year when Ike died. I think Sheila went off the deep end with him. Poor Gerald tries to keep things normal, but he can't quite make it work. Nothing much has been the same. I kind of knew it wouldn't be. I mean… there's no possible way it _could_ be the same. Things change when people die. It's bad enough that Kyle blames himself. The last thing he needs is for his mother to harbor the same blame. Now he drinks too much and when I'm not around, he's a serial drunk-dialler.

Halfway through the night, Kyle grabs me and we go to his room. He says my name in a sultry voice and I don't fuckin' hesitate to get on my knees and blow him. It always happens like this. He says my name in that tone and I'm ready to do whatever he wants me to. I don't mind it so much. I mean, I know I give good head. Practise makes perfect and I've had a lot since he first propositioned me. I like making him feel good. I know there are probably better methods, but he very rarely lets me take care of him in any other way.

When he comes, his sperm feels hot and thick on my tongue. I swallow, never minding the taste of him. I wipe my mouth and he buttons his jeans back up as I stand. He looks dazed. "Kyle…?" I say his name in a slow, questioning tone. He looks like he's spacing out. "Don't ignore me, I just sucked your fucking dick," I say, irritated.

He smiles faintly, glancing at me. "Sorry."

I only sigh. Before I can get out another word, the door swings open and Kenny is standing there with Tweek. They invite themselves in and start making out with one another, ripping at each other's clothing. Christ. I didn't even know Tweek went this way. Kenny shoves Tweek onto Kyle's bed and they start going at it like two rabbits.

Kyle grimaces at them before returning his attention to me. "You okay?" he asks.

"Perfect, Kyle," I say flatly.

Then it is quiet in the room, apart from Tweek's moans for _more_ and _harder_. I take my leave, going back downstairs. The music gets louder as I near the living room. People are dancing on one another. Clyde and Bebe are grinding. Bebe looks sexy but Clyde just looks drunk. They coupled up last month and they seem so happy together it almost makes me jealous.

I glance away before going into the kitchen to make myself a drink. When I step inside, I see Cartman and Wendy sitting at the table. "Hey," she says to me, smiling.

"Hey," I echo, smiling in return.

"How's Kyle?" she asks.

I just shrug. "He's… the way he always is."

Her smile turns piteous, but she doesn't say anything more about it. She only nods. I never told her what me and Kyle get up to, but I'm sure Cartman has filled in the blanks for her by now. He knows more than he should. The first time me and Kyle fucked, he was in the room. The three of us got drunk at Kyle's house. No party, no music. Just a shitty movie and two bottles of whisky. He got horny and I was there ready to fulfill my duty. It sounds so fucking awful when I say it like that, but really, I don't mind. Cartman was surprised, to say the least. No, he was more than surprised. Looking back on it, it was a fucking awkward night... but we were all drunk. No inhibitions. It was one of the rare nights I had too much. I try to control myself these days and usually I can, but there are still some nights that don't go right and I slip.

The morning after it happened, we all just stared at each other. Well, Cartman did most of the staring. Actually, I think he was mostly just judging us. It's happened a few times since then, but I haven't been shitty-drunk since the first time. I don't want to go back there. I had the nastiest hangover.

Kenny was bumming around with some girls, so he wasn't around for any of it. Nonetheless, Cartman filled in the blanks for him, too. Kenny never confronted Kyle about it. Just me. Everyone knows by now that it doesn't do any good to talk to Kyle about anything at all.

I mix myself a vodka lemonade and then join Wendy and Cartman at the table. "Damn Jew is fucked," Cartman mutters.

"Mm," I agree faintly, taking a sip of my drink. _Control_. It's my first drink tonight. I don't know why I'm even bothering. I should just get a glass of water.

* * *

><p>Later in the night, I decide to take a shower. I know I'm not dirty, but I still feel it.<p>

And, like most times, I'm not drunk, but I'm not quite sober either. I enter the bathroom, leaving the door unlocked in case Kyle or anyone else needs to hurl. I turn on the taps, strip off my clothes and toss them to the floor. I stare at myself in the mirror as I wait for the water to get hot. I'm short. Quite short. I only reach Kyle's shoulders. Even Wendy has an inch on me. I never really thought it was a big deal when we used to date. Kenny used to be the smallest in the group, mainly due to malnourishment, but he's grown up a lot since then. Like Kyle, Kenny is fit. Cartman is still as fat as a beached whale and that seems to suit him fine… but I don't know how he managed to get a girl like Wendy since he's such an evil, racist toad. I wonder if they'll last or if he'll change.

I step in the shower and close the curtains, grabbing Kyle's shampoo. It smells like him. Like peppermint.

After I rinse off, I pull back the curtain and see Kyle hovering in the open doorway. Speak of the devil.

I can still hear music blaring from downstairs. I guess the party is still alive. "Dude…" I mutter, grabbing a towel. "Close the door."

He continues to hover for a minute, simply staring at me. His critical look makes me feel self-conscious, but I try not to show it. "Hey," he murmurs an offhandedly greeting, stepping inside and finally closing the door.

"Hey," I echo, moving towards the mirror and standing in front of it. I towel off, staring at his reflection. He comes up behind me and kisses my bare shoulder, putting his hands on my hips.

He's the horniest drunk in the fucking world, I swear. He's even worse than Kenny.

"St-stop," I protest weakly. I feel like I'm melting.

"Do you want me to?" he asks, moving his hand over my stomach, past the trail of hair below my navel and down to grab my cock. "It doesn't _feel_ like you want me to."

"Sh-shut up…" I stutter. I close my eyes and hold onto the counter, feeling light headed. I don't know if it's the liquor or if it's Kyle. "I… I want…" I trail off, letting out a sigh that sounds more like a moan.

"Hm," Kyle muses, releasing me and wrapping his arms around my neck. Through the mirror, we lock eyes. He rests his chin on my head and says, "Want me to leave?"

"It's your house," I remind him weakly. I want him to keep touching me, but I always have a hard time getting out the words. That's why it's almost easier when he demands it. "Take what you want, Kyle. You always do."

And that's all the encouragement he needs. He bends me over and opens the drawer, fishing out a bottle of lube. A moment later, I feel his hands on my backside, touching, pushing, probing.

"You're soft," he murmurs and I want to tell him to fuck off with that romantic bullshit. I think there are times he forgets I'm not his girlfriend. I'm his best friend and he's not supposed to be saying shit like that to me. He's only making it harder. We're not two lovers. We're two best friends. We're two idiots. When I remember what things used to be like, I almost grow embarrassed at the fact that I let Kyle see me at my most intimate and vulnerable state… but I never feel embarrassed enough to actually put a stop to any of it. I'm still at his whim every time he says the word.

"Shut up and fuck me," I say, opening my legs wider.

And he does.

"_Nn_…" I moan, stroking myself absently. "F-fuck… fuck…" I release a shuddery moan, lurching forward with each harsh thrust. Wet, slapping sounds fill the room – yet another fast-paced anatomical collision. I open my eyes and stare at my reflection – at Kyle's reflection. His eyes are closed. He looks like he's in a drunken daze, concentration solely on his movements. For some reason, being faced with it like this makes me want to fucking cry and off myself. I can't deny it now. Kyle picked me not because I'm special but because I'm convenient. He knew I'd say yes. I am, after all, a horny fag. He's always rough. I'm always expendable. I never tell him to slow down or that he's hurting me. I'm a passive, permissive idiot.

I cum first because I'm not as drunk as he is. He's so drunk by now it takes him forever to finish and my ass feels numb by the time he finally does. I want to run away by now, but I can't do that without my clothes and I can't put my clothes on now because I'm sticky. So, I get in the shower again and sit on the floor. After a few minutes, Kyle strips and joins me, sitting across from me. I squint as the water hits our faces.

"Sorry, Stan," he murmurs, inching closer. He always apologizes but he never asks me if I'm okay. "I know I've never said it… You've never said it either, but I know how you feel about me. I wish I could love you properly."

I let out a sharp laugh that sounds like a sob. "Don't fucking _say_ shit like that!" I snap. I make a move to stand, but he grabs my wrist. "Let go of me, Kyle," I say… but he doesn't. "Kyle!" I shout his name.

"Stop whining, Stan," he says with a sigh, pulling me into him and wrapping his arms around me. I try to wriggle out, but his grip is iron so I just give in and lie against him. Our chests are pressed together, our stomachs are pressed together… even our dick and balls are pressed together. It's not comfortable. I feel trapped. It's cramped in the tub, but it's warm. _He's_ warm.

And just like that, I lose it. I let out a gasp followed by a string of sobs. "I love you…" I cry, hating myself for it. I'm weak. What do you do when the person you love doesn't love you back? You try to fall out of love. You try to stop loving them. It seems so fucking impossible, but I'm not even trying. I'm making things worse for myself. I keep letting him in – literally and figuratively. Maybe this means I've lost respect for myself.

When I finally quiet, we break apart and I leave without a word. My head hurts and I feel like shit. I cross the hall without drying off or putting my clothes back on. As I'm about to move into Kyle's room, I spot Wendy at the top of the stairway. Fucking great. She's looking at me with pity. Always pity. She's ready to play mother again, just like she always does.

She makes her way towards me and gives me a hug. I sigh into her hair. She's familiar. Comfortable. When we part, she offers me a small smile. "I'll get your things," she offers. "You can come home with me tonight."

I nod lifelessly and watch her walk into the bathroom. She picks my clothes up and hands them to me before stepping back inside. She reaches a hand into the shower and turns off the taps before pulling the curtains back. "Come on, Kyle," she urges, picking his things up off the floor as well before setting them on the countertop. "Time to get out. It's getting late, so I turned off the music and sent everyone home."

He obeys and she hands him a towel. Wendy is too good for everyone, I swear. We don't even deserve to have her as a friend because all we seem to do is inconvenience her. I clean Kyle's messes and she cleans mine, tending to me when I have my frequent mental breakdowns… but tonight isn't like that. Instead, she's cleaning up both of our messes. Tonight turned out a bit different, but it's all still grossly familiar.

I glance away and absently put my clothes back on. My skin is still damp, but I don't really care. I go downstairs and I don't wait for Kyle to say goodbye.

"Hey," I hear Kenny say.

I glance to the side and see him sitting on the sofa. "You stayed?" I ask.

He nods. "I'm crashing at Wendy's because my parents are being toads."

"What's new?" I snort.

He smiles a small smile. "They're having friends over. You know how much I hate that."

Kenny's parents are friends with a lot of creeps and criminals and they all seem to like him a little too much. As happy-go-lucky as he seems, it's all just to mask the fact that his life is shit and his home-life is even worse. He pretends it's not, but we all know the grim stories. Kevin ran away from home ages ago, but he shows up every now and again. Karen is constantly being passed back and forth. Sometimes she's at the Tucker house and sometimes she's with the Petersons. The McCormick kids are the local charity – the kids everyone in the town tries to take care of. It's a joint communal effort, but Kenny tries to distance himself from all the sympathy. He wants none of it. He can't stand sympathy, pity or the knowledge that other people feel bad for him.

Kenny wants his life to be as exciting and fucked up as possible to compensate for how fucking empty he feels. With such a sad life, there was never really any hope for him at being normal. Proper love is something his parents never gave him, so he sleeps around in an attempt to wrap himself in affection and fill the void. Like Kyle's mother, Kenny's parents are violent. They're violent towards each other and they're violent towards their kids. Depending on Kenny's mood, sometimes he'll take hits from his dad. Other times, he'll fight back.

I really hate Kenny's parents. They have no shame and very little morality. Plus, they're crazy meth heads. There's a meth lab in the back of their house and I guess they like to sample the product.

"Yeah," I murmur, knowing it never does any good to pry. Kenny just cracks jokes about his suffering, even though none of it is funny. I glance around the room. "It's… oddly clean?"

"Wendy made Clyde and Bebe stay," Kenny snorts. "The four of us cleaned up. Eric ran away before she could ask him."

"Thanks," I say sincerely. I don't want Sheila coming home to a disaster. That'll just give her new reasons to hit Kyle. "So, what's up?"

"I should ask you that," he says. "Everyone heard you crying, so Wendy decided to shut things down."

"Was I that loud?" I wonder, frowning to myself. How fucking humiliating. Christ, I bet the entire school thinks I'm a fucking baby at this point.

"Yeah," Kenny smiles sympathetically. "Was it Kyle?"

"Isn't it always?" I ask tartly, but he doesn't respond. He just offers me another sympathetic smile and squeezes my shoulder. "Sometimes I get so horny I feel like I could let anyone have their way with me," I admit shamelessly. "I get turned on just thinking about it. It's almost embarrassing how eager I am just to put Kyle's dick in my mouth… but sometimes I want more than Kyle… because I can't have him in all the ways I want him."

"I feel like it's my fault," Kenny admits. "I mean… it all happened because I wanted to fuck you. Then Kyle found out and propositioned you. He wouldn't have done that if we didn't do what we did and since you're so into him, you can't say no."

"It's _not_ your fault," I tell him pointedly. "I could have said no. I didn't."

"Can I ask why?" he pries.

"I'm horny and faggy," I mutter. "He'll say my name in this tone that gets me so hot… I'll literally fall on the floor with my legs open."

He rolls his eyes. "Don't say stupid things. You always talk shit about yourself. It's fuckin' annoying. You need to have more confidence, dude. It goes a long way. I mean, you're a cute guy. A really cute guy. I bet a lot of dudes would love to fuck yah and take you out on dates. They probably never try because you seem, like, really rigid. Y'know? I mean… look at Craig. He's as cute as you and he gets all the dick he wants because he's a big slut and isn't afraid to show it."

I pale at the crudity of what he's saying. Kenny has no filters – he just says everything that pops into his head no matter how fucked it is. He talks hard, but he doesn't say it to be mean. "Dude, if Craig heard you saying that shit I think he'd try to kick your ass."

"Key word – _try_," Kenny says with a laugh. "I doubt he could. We all know he sucks at fighting. He always has. Even Tweek can kick his ass."

I snicker, recalling the infamous fight they had when we were eight. Craig was a skinny, little twig and couldn't really do much. He's still slim now, but not in a scrawny way. Just slim.

Soon, Wendy comes back downstairs and announces, "Kyle is in bed."

"Thanks for doing all of this, Wendy," I tell her sincerely.

She just smiles and waves her hand lazily. "It's fine, it's fine." We all get our boots and coats and leave. It's freezing outside and the snow is piling up, but that will all stop soon. Summer is approaching.

I'm not going to university. Fuck it. I have no ambitions and no goals. Forcing myself to get out of bed is hard enough on some days. I'll get a mundane job, like Kenny, and force myself to be satisfied with it. Kenny works in a call center on weekends. Funny, huh? I can't really picture him with an office job, but he's had it for the past year. He cleans up good and knows how to talk. He says he'll be working full time as soon as school is over. I don't think I could work in a call center since I'm shy. Maybe I'll apply at the super market… Bah. I don't want to think about any of that now.

The walk to Wendy's house is quiet and when we get there, we all pile inside. By now, her parents are asleep. Thank fuck. We take off our boots quietly and place them on the rug so we don't make puddles.

Wendy escorts us to the guest room and says, "I'll be in my room if you need me."

Me and Kenny nod in unison and she closes the door, leaving us alone.

"Wanna cuddle?" Kenny asks, taking his jacket off and tossing it on the floor before stripping his jeans off.

"Sure," I say, somewhat humored as I follow him and strip down until I'm left in my t-shirt and shorts.

For some reason, Kenny is as comfortable as Wendy is. I guess we've shared a lot and I know he understands me. I think he's honestly the only guy in my life who hasn't hurt me.

He gets in bed and I turn off the lights before joining him. He grabs my midsection and pulls me until I'm against him. I let myself relax. It feels good to be close to someone like this.

As dickish as Kenny can be, he really knows how to make someone feel better.

* * *

><p>When I wake up, I hear Wendy and her mom conversing in Arabic in the hallway. Wendy's mom is from Bahrain and they always speak Arabic when it's something they don't want everyone else to hear. I'm assuming they're talking about me and Kenny. I'll get the scoop from Wendy when her mom is gone.<p>

I'm still locked in Kenny's arms and I feel his eve breath on the back of my neck. Clearly, he isn't conscious. I wriggle out of his grip, trying not to wake him in the process. Once I'm up, I put my pants back on and wait for the voices to quiet. When they do, I open the door and find Wendy in her room.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey," she smiles. She's sitting at her desk in front of her open laptop.

"You were talking with your mom…?" I question, trailing off.

"She wanted to know why I brought two boys home," Wendy laughs. "I told her it was just you and Kenny. I said you guys were having a rough time. She seemed satisfied with that."

I give a long nod. "Thanks, Wendy. Seriously."

"No problem," she insists, waving her hand dismissively.

"I wish I was straight," I confess quietly, taking another step into her room. "Then maybe… I wouldn't feel this way."

"If you were straight, then maybe there would be a girl instead of a boy," Wendy reasons.

I smile faintly. "Remember when you were that girl?"

She laughs softly. "Yes."

"I was always a dick," I mutter. "I never supported you. I did everything wrong."

"You didn't know what you wanted," Wendy says knowingly. "I was probably familiar, so you settled because you thought that's what you were supposed to do. For a while, you just accepted it. Then you got older, new feelings got involved… your feelings for Kyle."

I wrinkle my nose. "Pretty much, yup." I let out a sigh. "I just wish… I could have feelings for someone who actually felt something for me in return."

"Kyle does feel something for you," Wendy offers gently. "It's just… It might not be exactly what you're looking for."

"Hm," I grunt. "He's mean to me."

"I know," Wendy whispers. "Why do you put up with it?"

"Because I love him," I snort.

"You were both… so _lost_ last night," she continues, frowning. "I've never seen Kyle that…"

"Naked?" I ask lightly.

She chuckles, though it's lackluster. "No. I've never seen him look that miserable."

"Well, he's changed a lot since Ike died," I say. "And we still don't know what the hell happened or why he blames himself. He won't ever talk about it and if Ike is brought up in conversations, he goes catatonic. I mean, it's been a year… This isn't exactly normal."

"Blame does things to people and it really hinders the grieving process," Wendy says sympathetically. "Hopefully he'll be able to move on from it. If not, he'll only grow more miserable."

"Yeah," I whisper in agreement. Before either of us can say anything else, Kenny saunters into the room.

"Yo," he greets.

"No hangover?" I ask him.

He shakes his head, smiling. "I usually know how to hold my shit, unlike _some people_." He means Kyle. Poor Kyle.

"Usually," I repeat with a snort. "I've witnessed some spectacular hangovers over the years, thanks to you."

"Likewise," he retorts with a smirk.

And that I can't deny.

* * *

><p>Come Monday, I skip the first half of school. I make my way there around lunchtime and enter the cafeteria just in time to see Bebe sneeze, popping out of her button down shirt in the process. "Nice…" Clyde says, nodding his head.<p>

"Clyde!" Bebe exclaims, swatting the side of his head before clutching her chest and leaving the cafeteria.

I roll my eyes and make my way across the room, sitting with my usual crew – Cartman, Kenny, Kyle and Wendy.

"Did I miss anything?" I ask, sitting down.

It's the second-last month of grade twelve. This means we'll be going on the grade twelve trip soon. Most schools get to go somewhere cool, but since this is a piss poor, shitty school, we only get to go to Denver to see some sports game that no one cares about. Oh, well. At least we're getting out for a little while.

"Yes," Cartman snickers. "We were watching some stupid video in first period when Craig had a seizure and crapped his pants."

My jaw literally drops but then Kenny smacks the fat ass in the arm. "No, he didn't!" he snaps.

"Fine," Cartman relents. "He didn't shit, but he did have a seizure."

"And it wasn't fucking funny," Kyle mutters. "He fell on his face and smacked his head pretty hard. He's in the hospital."

"Christ!" I exclaim. "What the hell happened?"

"Probably too much crack," Cartman snorts and Wendy smacks his arm this time.

"He has photosensitive epilepsy," Kenny adds, shooting the fat ass a dull look. "That's why he's always wearing sunglasses outside. The video had flickering in it. That's what it was, not _crack_. Bebe told me that he doesn't drink _or_ do drugs."

"Seriously?" I ask, somewhat surprised. Craig seems like the stoner type. It's kind of surprising that he's straight edge. But I guess if I were epileptic I wouldn't want to be a liquor pig, either.

Kenny smiles and nods. A second later, his eyes glaze over. I can tell there's something on his mind, but I won't ask.

Dirty thoughts, I bet. Dirty thoughts about Craig Tucker.

* * *

><p>After school, we all head to Kyle's house. Everything is always exceedingly normal when it's the four of us.<p>

Once inside, we all shed our coats and kick off our boots before going upstairs. Fortunately, Sheila doesn't seem to be home. I don't think Kenny or Cartman know she's been smacking Kyle around. He probably doesn't want them to know, so I keep my mouth shut.

Kyle flops onto his bed, getting under the covers. Cartman sits with him, while Kenny sits at the bottom of the mattress and I grab the desk chair.

Kyle starts blabbering about something he heard on the news and Cartman interrupts him mid-sentence, releasing a loud fart. "That's what I think about the shit comin' from your mouth, Kahl," he declares.

"Ugh!" Kyle exclaims in disbelief, covering his nose. Before he can get away, the chubby teenager shoves his head under the blankets. "Cartman, gross!" he shrieks, struggling from beneath the duvet.

"Just trynna keep yah warm!"

I can't help but laugh. Kyle's been eating Cartman's farts for years. Maybe he has sulfur poisoning and that's why he's such a dick.

* * *

><p>The next day, Craig comes to school with stitches on his forehead. He looks pissy, per usual. Cartman gives him a hard time in the morning, asking, "Did you take a dump while you were twitching around on the floor?" Token promptly punches him in the face and Jason chases his fat ass down the hallway.<p>

Craig is Queen B of his group. I'm only just noticing it. He has all these buff guys catering to him – Clyde, Jason, Token. For some reason, it makes me jealous. I wish Kyle would treat me the way Craig's friends treat him.

Since I have my free period last, I loiter around with Kenny near our lockers. I tell him that Token punched Cartman, because I think he missed the action.

"I wanna give Craig a dicking," Kenny confesses out of the blue, not bothering to respond to what I said. "I want to know how he'd look rolling around in my bed. I want to suck his cock an' please him in the sheets."

"Awesome," I snort. I can't say I'm surprised. Craig Tucker – conquest to all players. Kenny is definitely a player. "Well, I doubt the way to his heart is by fucking a bunch of his friends, dude. You fucked Lola, Red, Tweek, Bebe, Annie… and the list goes on."

He holds up his hands. "Okay, okay, okay, I get it, but it's not like I can change who I am."

"He probably thinks you're a huge asshole," I add. "That's not who you are, dip shit."

"Yeah, I'm a grade A friend," Kenny insists, jabbing a thumb into his chest. "I'm pretty, I'm hilarious, I'm good in bed and I suck dick like a professional."

"Stop fucking around," I tell him.

"But that's what I do best," he whines. I roll my eyes and – speak of the devil – we see Craig coming down the hall a split second later. He has a big math text book in his hands. "I wanna fuck Craig," Kenny repeats the sentiment more crudely, staring as the brunet shoves the textbook into his locker. "He seems vapid, but I have a feeling he's a lot more exciting than he lets on… and if he's not, I bet he makes up for it in bed. I _really_ wanna fuck him."

"Why so suddenly?" I ask, sounding dull. I already know what the answer is going to be.

"I want to see how many orgasms I can make him have," he admits.

I fucking knew it. I roll my eyes again and say, "You're an ass. He isn't a conquest, you know. He's a person." And, yeah, I'm not fond of Craig… but I like to think I know right from wrong.

"Maybe I also want to romance him," Kenny challenges.

"You don't," I say flatly. "You don't _do_ romance."

He laughs and says, "Yeah, you're right… but damn, Tucker is good looking. His ass is probably fine as fuck."

"I guess so," I mutter in agreement. I stare at Craig. I mean, Kenny is right. Craig is a good looking guy. He's not my type, but he's attractive. He's of average height and has nice hair and nice skin. He has a freckle below his left eye and a ring in his nose. His top front teeth are kind of crooked, but he doesn't seem to care. Kenny is a smooth talker and could probably bed him easily.

"I think he hates me," Kenny snorts. "I don't think he ever forgave me for checking out his mom's bush."

By now, everyone knows the _real_ story about that voyeuristic video and Craig isn't one for forgiveness.

"Yeah, that was dickish of you," I say, "but everyone who watched was just as dickish… me, included."

Kyle is the only one who said no. He used to be… so sweet and moral.

Kenny shrugs. "Craig's mom is hot."

"No excuse," I tell him.

Kenny waves a dismissive hand. "Watch this," he whispers, nodding for me to follow him towards Craig. "Hey, there," he greets in a husky voice.

Craig turns Kenny's way and lets out a sigh. "What, perv?" Kenny just stares at him, not answering the question. "Stop looking at me like that!" Craig snaps.

I'm taken aback, but Kenny just smiles. "Why?" he asks in a tone that obviously shows feigned innocence. He's up to no good.

"You know why," Craig mutters tartly. "You're looking at me like I'm a piece of meat put in front of a starving person. It makes me feel naked, like I'm being stripped. _Don't_ fucking look at me like that." He grabs a scribbler from his locker and Kenny immediately snatches it, tossing it on the floor behind Craig. "Are you fucking joking?" Craig deadpans, glaring at Kenny. He turns around and bends over to pick it up.

"Mm mm mmmm…" Kenny nods approvingly.

Craig grabs his book and turns around, smacking Kenny with it. "_Stop_ staring at my ass. Tempting as it is, try to control yourself."

Kenny holds up his hands, feigning innocence. I want to ask him why he's being such a prick, but he'd only call me out for messing up his _game_.

"So, what are you doing after school?" Kenny asks him.

"Not you," Craig says flatly.

"Then Jason, perhaps?" Kenny counters in a simper.

"Jason's fucking ugly," I say adding my two-cents before I can stop myself. "He looks like a cave man and he acts like one, too." Which is true for the most part. He's on the football team with Token and Clyde and he seems to communicate by grunting a lot. Kyle used to be on the football team, too, but he quit when Ike died.

Craig shrugs. "He isn't that bad looking and he's not as awful as everyone thinks. At least… not to me. I've been his friend for a long time. He took my virginity. He has _some_ redeeming qualities."

"Yeah?" Kenny urges with a snort. "Do tell."

"He has, like," Craig pauses, stretching his hands out, "a _really_ big, thick dick."

Kenny looks scandalized. "How big?" he asks.

"It's about eight inches, I'd say," Craig tells us.

Kenny looks disheartened and I can't help but laugh. "Bigger than yours, _stud_?" I taunt.

"Whatever," he says, promptly changing the subject. "Size doesn't even matter. It's _all_ in technique. Come on, Craig. Let's do something. I can show you a good time."

"Oh, yeah?" Craig challenges flatly, not looking like he's all that keen on it.

"Yeah," Kenny promises.

"Why?" Craig asks. "Guys like you just want to fuck. At least be honest about it. Don't pretend there's something more to your advances than purely that."

"All right, you caught me," Kenny confesses. "I wanna fuck the shit outta you… but I also wanna _know_ you."

"Fuck the shit out of me?" Craig repeats flatly. "How quaint." He doesn't look moved by Kenny's less than eloquent sentiment. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't sleep around with anyone who asks. I like to actually get to know a person first. Then I know what I'm getting myself into."

"Then let's play the question game," Kenny propositions.

"No," Craig refuses.

"Yes," Kenny insists. "This is the easiest way to get to know someone."

"Getting to know someone should happen _naturally_," Craig scoffs in disbelief. "Have you been socialized properly? Even I'm not this socially retarded!" He's getting frustrated, clearly. It's somewhat fascinating to watch, as cruel as that sounds.

"Come on, Craig," Kenny urges. "Tell me something personal."

"No," he flat out refuses. "I can't think of anything and even if I could, I wouldn't share it with you."

Kenny definitely wasn't playing around when he said Craig wasn't fond of him. Damn. Then again, Kenny is being a huge asshole. He kind of gets like that sometimes. I think he tries hard to compensate and act a lot more dominant than he feels.

"Fine, I'll think of one," Kenny decides. "Hm… Okay, when were you adopted?" he asks tactlessly.

"What?" Craig asks, raising an eyebrow.

"When were you adopted?" Kenny asks again.

He's told me this theory time and time again. Since Laura Tucker is blonde and Thomas Tucker is a ginger, they can't exactly have a black haired baby. Kenny learned that in the biology class he took last year.

"I'm not…" Craig says slowly.

"Does your mom dye her hair?" Kenny pries.

"No…" Craig says in the same, slow tone.

I immediately slap a hand over my mouth. I stare at Kenny and try to urge him to shut the fuck up, but he doesn't seem to understand what's going on. He insists, "Then yeah, you are adopted…"

"No, I'm not!" Craig raises his voice, passing frustration and getting pissed off.

"Stop kidding around," Kenny snorts. "Haven't you taken a biology class?"

A pause. "I took chemistry," Craig confesses.

"A ginger and a blonde can't have a black haired kid," Kenny explains. "Duh."

Craig looks stunned. Christ, Kenny is an idiot sometimes. He really has no tact at all. After a brief and awkward silence, Craig turns around and runs out the nearest exit.

"What the hell?" Kenny asks, looking at me.

I give him a dull look. "He didn't know, asshole," I murmur.

Kenny winces, slapping a hand over his face. "Oh, fuck…! He's gonna _hate_ me worse than ever!"

I scoff at him. "Is that really all you care about? He's probably traumatized now."

* * *

><p>Craig isn't at school the following day. I can't say I'm surprised. Kenny drags me to the Tucker house after school. He's feeling pretty bad and I think he wants me there to act as the potential buffer in case Craig has a bitch fit.<p>

We knock on the door and Thomas immediately sneers at Kenny. "What do _you_ want?" he asks.

"I-uh," Kenny stutters, trailing off.

"If it's okay, we wanted to see Craig," I say, mustering up my sweetest and most polite tone of voice.

Thomas stares at us for a minute. "All you boys seem to do is fuck around with my wife and _especially_ my son."

Well, he's right about that. This goes way back. Even before the Peru incident, we were fucking around with Craig. Maybe it all started when we wanted him to fight Tweek. That didn't end well. He just got himself beat up. Tweek got wrecked, too, but everyone knows Craig got it worse. He sucks ass at fighting. He's probably even shittier now that everyone is grown up. He's no longer the tallest kid. In fact, he's far from it… Well, he's still taller than I am.

"Sorry," Kenny apologizes awkwardly.

"Yeah, we're sorry," I add.

In a quiet voice, Thomas says, "He didn't _need_ to know he was adopted."

"Yes, he did," Kenny insists, "but still, I guess I shouldn't have been the one to say it first."

When Thomas is about to counter Kenny's argument, Craig appears at the top of the stairwell. He clears his throat and when we all look his way he says, "What the fuck do you assholes want?" He's in his pajamas and his hair is stuck up in odd angles, making it look like he just rolled out of bed. Maybe he did.

"To talk," Kenny answers.

Craig scoffs but nonetheless agrees. "Fine, come on."

Thomas begrudgingly allows us inside and me and Kenny follow Craig into his room. It's boring and plain. I guess it suits him. There's simple wood furniture, a blue bed spread and matching curtains. He has a desk with some books, a nightstand with a lamp and a bureau with a guinea pig cage. There are no posters on the wall and no knickknacks. It's just… kind of lifeless.

"Let's get on with it," Craig says, sitting at the edge of his mattress and staring at us expectantly.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Kenny starts. "I act like a dick when there's someone I want to impress. It's like… second nature. I know that's not an excuse, but it's the truth. It's something I'm trying to work on. I thought you would've known you were adopted, so I thought I'd bring it up because it was the most personal thing I could think of at the time. I'm sorry I keep fucking around with you and I'm sorry about the thing with your mom. I was a dumbass kid and I should have known better."

Craig looks at him silently, as if he's processing the information and trying to sort out whether or not it's true. Finally, he says, "Okay."

"Okay?" Kenny questions. "That's it?"

"What did you expect?"

"Well," Kenny shrugs, "people say you hold a mean grudge."

"I can," Craig admits, "but you sound sincere enough. I'm not some unreasonable, psychotic bitch like everyone thinks. That's Red."

"Look…" Kenny murmurs, rubbing the back of his head. "Are you, like… okay and stuff? You weren't at school today, so I was worried."

Craig smiles so wide you can see the dimples in his cheeks, but it's hardly sincere. He looks like he might start laughing at Kenny's show of kindness, but he doesn't. He presses his lips together briefly before saying, "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Kenny pries.

"I confronted my parents about it as soon as I got home," Craig starts. "I said Kenny told me blah blah blah. They were taken aback. I don't think they ever planned to tell me, but I don't really blame them. My birth parents croaked before I was even one year old. It's not exactly a happy story. It's probably best that I never found out. I kind of wish I hadn't, because now I want to know them... but I can't."

Kenny is frowning. He looks so fucking guilty. "I'm really sorry…"

Craig shrugs. "Like I said, it's okay. Shit happens, right?"

"Right," he whispers.

I feel kind of awkward hovering like this when clearly none of this has anything to do with me… but still, I can't bring myself to say a damn word.

"Anyway," Craig shoes us away from him with a careless wave of his hand. "You can go now. I'm tired."

"One last thing," Kenny says stubbornly. "Are you going on the grade twelve trip?"

"Yes…" Craig says.

"Be my bed mate," Kenny decides, jabbing a thumb into his chest.

"If I say yes, will you go away?"

Kenny nods and smiles. "Promise."

* * *

><p>We don't continue to linger after that. We head out and I ask, "So, gonna try to fuck him on the trip?"<p>

"Maybe," Kenny admits with a shrug.

"You're so shameless," I tell him, shaking my head. I don't know how he does this kind of shit in good conscience.

He grins, putting his hands behind his head. "I could show him a damn good time."

"Maybe he's not looking for one," I suggest.

Kenny snorts. "I think pretty much everyone wants to have a good time. Craig included."

"He's probably still getting fucked by Jason's massive dong." The award for weirdest couple goes to Craig and Jason, I swear. Well, technically I don't think they're a couple. They just fuck since Jason is straight. Still, it's weird. If I didn't see it firsthand last year I never would have been able to fathom it. "Besides, you don't know anything about Craig. He might be into all kinds of weird kinky shit."

"I _love_ kinks," Kenny says, pointing to himself. "Vanilla is boring."

I just shake my head at him. "Ass."

He smiles faintly. "So, will you be bedding with Kyle?"

"Probably," I admit. "I'll ask him later. The forms don't have to be in until the end of the week, so we still have some time."

But just thinking about it is making me nervous and it's a feeling I can't seem to get rid of.

Deep breaths, Stanley. Deep breaths.


	3. What goes up

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

* * *

><p>It's Friday. Me and Kyle passed our forms in. We'll be sharing a bed on the trip. I hope we don't have to share a room with anyone shitty.<p>

Speaking of shitty – Kenny asked Craig to "hang out" again, only to be shut down harder than he was last time. Now Kenny is being even worse than before. We're at school and he's talking big, trying to compensate for Craig continuing to shut him down. I can see Craig coming down the hallway, but Kenny seems oblivious. He just keeps running his mouth. He's going to get himself into trouble if he doesn't shut the fuck up right now.

"I guess he's a bit of a skank," Kenny continues. He's said it to me before, but it's probably a thought he should keep to himself... Especially at times like now.

"Dude –" I try to warn him, but he just cuts me off.

"Is his asshole so loose that he needs Jason's massive shlong to fill it?" he asks, getting snappy and irritated. Behind him, Craig is hovering with crossed arms and a frown. Instead of responding to the lewd remark, I just point. Kenny eventually gets the hint, turning around and wincing. "Oh, _fuck_…"

"Yeah, so sorry," Craig says flatly. "You caught me red handed. That's why I won't let you fuck me. It's because I don't think your tiny, noodle of a cock will be able to fill my big, gaping asshole."

"I'm seven inches!" Kenny nearly shouts, throwing his hands up. "I'm above average!"

I can attest to this, but I won't. He dug his grave. He can lie in it.

"Oh?" Craig simpers. "Not gonna claim thirteen inches? Isn't that what you used to prance around saying? Seven inches is hardly enough to please me." He lets out an incredibly callous sounding laugh. "Well, we all knew you were compensating. Seven inches is hardly impressive," he finishes cattily. With that, he storms down the hallway.

"I think you hurt his feelings," I point out.

"His feelings?" Kenny snorts.

"He _does_ have feelings, dude," I say. "He's human, after all..."

"I doubt _his_ dick is seven inches," Kenny mutters, dismissing my comment. "It's probably, like, five inches or something." A pause. "No offense, Stan. You got a cute dick, though. It's okay."

A _cute_ dick? Yeah, that's something a guy wants to hear. That's like a fucking oxymoron. I give him the dullest stare I can muster up. Then, like Craig, I walk away.

* * *

><p>I find Cartman and Kyle in the library, looking studious amongst the stacks of books. It's always refreshing to see Kyle with a text book. After Ike died, he bombed his finals. He passed eleventh year with mundane marks, which only made Sheila angrier. This year, I think he's determined to keep his high honors. Then again, maybe he's just faking.<p>

"Hey," I say, sitting with them.

"Hey," he looks up from his book, offering me a smile.

"Wuh'sup, fag?" Cartman asks offhandedly, playing with his phone.

I decide to tell them about Kenny's latest goof in case they haven't heard. Cartman looks like he might drool by the time I finish the story. "And so… yeah, Craig is adopted."

Cartman laughs boisterously, slamming his hands onto the table and making a ruckus. "Oh, gawd! That is _beautiful_!"

I wince. "No… it really wasn't. It was terrible."

"Did Craig cry?" Cartman asks hopefully. "Oh, please, please, please say he cried."

"He didn't cry," I say dryly. "He just went home."

"And probably cried," Cartman chortles, like the potential of it is hilarious.

I just shake my head at him and, after a minute, the librarian comes over and tells us to be quiet. Cartman tells her to stick it and is promptly kicked out, leaving me alone with Kyle. Great.

"You okay?" I ask him. We haven't really spent time alone since his party last weekend.

Kyle lets out a sharp sigh, letting me know he's pissed off. "Everyone keeps asking me that," he mutters. "Kenny, Wendy, fuckin' Cartman… now you."

"Well… everyone is concerned for you," I say cautiously.

"No," he deadpans, finally staring up at me. "Everyone is concerned for _you_. _Poor Stan, Kyle is such a fucking asshole always making him cry_. That's what they're all thinking. They just want to make sure I'm okay because they know when I'm not, you're not."

The words sting, but I don't quite know why. I also don't know how to counter them. "That's not true," I try.

He stares at me, tight-jawed. His eyes glaze over and he grits his teeth. He looks like he wants to keep arguing with me, but he doesn't. He stays quiet.

"Kyle…" I say his name gently.

He breaks eye contact, staring down at the table. He locks his hands in his hair, pulling on the curly strands. He looks emotionally frustrated and I don't really know how to ease him. I never do it properly.

I stand up and walk around the table, uncurling his fingers from his hair. "Come on," I murmur to him. "Let's go outside and get some fresh air."

He nods lifelessly, shoving his textbook into his bag and swinging it over his shoulder. With that, we leave the library. We walk down the hallway and through the back exit, loitering on the cement stairway where the stoners usually hang out. Kyle shoves his hands in his coat pocket, taking out a package of cigarettes. He puts one between his lips and lights it.

"How do you feel?" I ask him.

He shakes his head and shrugs, taking a long drag. "Sometimes I feel everything and sometimes I literally feel nothing at all…" he murmurs hoarsely, smoke leaving his mouth as he speaks. He sniffles and I'm not sure if it's because of the cold or because he's trying not to start crying. "I feel like… I can step out of myself and I'm not me. Instead, I'm just looking at me. I'm looking at this guy, Kyle Broflovski and I think, 'Wow… His life really sucks.' And then I step back in and I remember he's me. I'm me."

"That sounds dangerous," I say, somewhat unsettled by the strange statement.

"Hm," he grunts, taking another long drag.

"Kyle, I –" I start, only to be cut off.

"_Don't_," he says pleadingly. "Don't start with this concerned friend shit. I don't deserve any of it."

"Yeah, you do," I whisper.

He lets out a laugh followed by a sob. "Damn it!" he hisses at himself, tossing the cigarette butt into a nearby snowbank. "I was trying so hard _not_ to start crying," he says wetly, wiping his nose on his sleeve unceremoniously.

"Better out than in," I offer and his eyes start leaking. He wipes each tear away just to make room for more. He lets out these quiet, gasp-like sobs. It sounds like he's having a panic attack, but I know he's not. He always gets mad at himself for crying. I feel like crying is yet another thing we both do too much. I wish I could be like Kenny. He never cries. Then again, maybe that isn't a good thing.

I tentatively move forward and wrap my arms around Kyle. He does the same and keeps me close. His crying gets louder. I don't know what the hell to say, so I just keep my mouth shut.

It feels like hours go by, but Kyle finally quiets down. We separate and he lights another cigarette. There are stains on his cheeks and his eyes are wet, but they're no longer leaking.

"Wanna come over after school?" he asks, not bothering to look at me.

"Not today," I murmur. "I'm just… really tired lately. I think I'm gonna just go sleep when I get home."

"_Why_?" He looks offended that I'd rather sleep alone than sleep with him. "You sleep too much," he accuses pointedly.

I just shrug. I guess he's right, but there are times when I just don't want to be awake – times like now.

* * *

><p>After class, I decide to walk home instead of taking the bus with everyone else. I take my sweet time and when I arrive at the end of my driveway, I see Wendy at my doorstep.<p>

"Hey," I greet her.

"Hey," she echoes with a smile.

I unlock the door and we move inside. I'm glad no one is home. All my parents do is argue. I fucking hate my father sometimes… but he doesn't like me much, either, so I guess it doesn't matter how I feel.

"Kyle lost it at school earlier," I tell her as we move into the kitchen.

"You need to stop having sex with him," Wendy says bluntly. "Tell him you don't want to do it anymore and tell him why. Make him understand."

I close my eyes. "I _can't_," I whimper.

"You _can_," she counters firmly.

I shake it off and try to calm my voice. "Want anything to drink?" I ask her as I pour myself a glass of water.

"No, thanks," she says. "And don't change the subject, Stan. This is important. You can't just ignore it. If you let this go on, it'll only make you feel worse. Sometimes, you need to be selfish. You need to do what's best for _you_."

I sniffle, trying hard not to start bawling. "It fucking hurts…" I whisper. "I know he's not trying to cause me grief, but he is. I don't think he even realizes it… But I can't be selfish because he's in more pain than I am."

"It's not a competition," Wendy counters. "And all that aside, you deserve better.

"I find that hard to believe," I snort before taking a sip of water. I set the glass on the counter and glance at Wendy. She looks so fucking sympathetic.

"You aren't his medicine, Stan," she says sagely. "You need to have more confidence. You used to have so much of it. What happened?"

I just shrug. I don't really want to give it much thought. I don't want to make myself feel worse than I already do. "Dunno," I mumble.

"Yes, you do," she insists. "It's your father, isn't it?"

I let out a sharp scoff. "No."

"Come on," she urges gently. "Be honest. It's just me. How long have we been friends? I've seen every fucking part of you, Stan, so don't lie to me. I'll know."

I remain tight-jawed, shaking my head.

"You were ten years old," she starts, "and your father got drunk and called you a burden. He said he didn't love you. That's how it started, right?"

"Be quiet," I whisper, trying to distance myself from the words. It hurts to hear. It shouldn't by now. I'm eighteen and I should just be numb to it… but I'm not. Wendy doesn't say another word. Instead, she just moves forward and wraps her arms around me, keeping me close. "He pretended like it never even happened," I murmur, locking my hands around her back. "I should hate him, but I don't."

It happened again when I was sixteen years old. That time was worse. He was watching some stupid sports game. He was so drunk, I don't think he even realized who was winning and who was losing. I came downstairs to get a glass of water. He said he never wanted kids. He said he would've been okay with one mistake, but two was pushing it. He said I'm something he regrets. He said he feels no attachment towards me, no fondness. For a while, I stood still and frozen simply listening to his cruel words. I walked away once I heard enough, but I bet he could've continued shit talking me all night. So, I went upstairs and started to cry. I dug a bottle of Jameson out of my closet and opened the cap. I got drunk, I got sick and my mom got sad. It was a really fucking bad night and I don't want to ever feel that way again.

"I know," Wendy says softly.

I can tell she isn't going to let this Kyle thing go – especially not after the mess that happened on the weekend. There will probably be another repeat of it this weekend. Kyle has parties most weekends and something always goes wrong.

* * *

><p>Saturday is just as shitty as I knew it'd be. As always, Kyle gets drunk and makes a mess of himself. As always, I make myself a light drink and try to stay sober. If he asks me for anything… I'll say no. I'll try to, that is. Sometimes it gets hard. He honestly makes me melt.<p>

Kenny tries apologizing to Craig, but it's lackluster. "Sorry," he mutters, not sounding all that sincere.

Craig stares at him blankly before saying, "No, you're not, asshole. Go fuck yourself." He crosses his arms and burn holes through Kenny's skull. Kenny throws his hands up in the air and walks away, probably to find a distraction.

For most of the night, I stay in the living room and sip on my drink. Next to me, Butters is chattering about some stupid video he took of some birds. I just nod along to what he's saying until it gets too boring. Then I stand up and leave, abandoning my drink.

I wander into the basement and find Kenny in the middle of yet another threesome. Christ, he gets around. He's fucking Jessie while Kal plays with his ass. Lovely. They're going at it pretty hard and none of them notice me, so I leave.

I continue wandering around, but I can't find Kyle. That's probably for the best. I return to the living room and grab my drink, downing the rest of it.

An hour later and I feel really weird, like there is something hot running through my veins. Different than blood. A lot more lively. I rub my tingly arms and move to try and find a familiar face. After a few minutes, I find one.

"Stan!" Wendy calls, nearing me. "You look…" she pauses. "Your eyes… Are you okay?"

"I feel weird," I admit.

"You _sound_ weird," she frowns. "Okay, go into the kitchen and find Eric. He's watching everyone who got drugged."

"Drugged?" I croak.

She nods solemnly. "People are saying Terrance, Bill and Fosse spiked a few drinks. I guess they thought it'd be a funny joke. Yours must've been one of them."

"Ugh, no," I whine, grabbing my face in my hands. "With what?"

"MDMA," she answers.

I pale, mouth agape. I've never tried hard drugs before and I definitely wasn't looking to start.

With another sympathetic nod, Wendy leads me into the kitchen. Right away, I see Bebe and Clyde tonguing one another. Craig is sitting at the table, hugging himself. Across from him are Annie and Heidi, who are hugging each other.

Cartman is perched up on the counter, surveying the room and watching everyone with a look of distaste. It's funny. Usually he'd be the one laughing at this sort of event, but he's not. He looks like he's taking his job seriously. I guess Wendy is really whipping him into shape.

After a few minutes, Jason enters the room, surveying until he spots Craig. "Hey," he murmurs, nearing him. "Tucker, up."

Craig stands up and immediately latches onto Jason. He's all hands. "I wanna do something," he decides.

"Like what?" Jason asks. "Go home? 'Cause that's where I'm taking you. Laura will have my nuts if I don't bring you home tonight."

"My mom won't care if we're a bit late," Craig says in a moan. His voice sounds strange to my ears. I can't help but wonder if my voice sounds similarly high pitched and whiny. "I wanna fuck!"

"No," Jason says flatly. "You've been drugged. I ain't touchin' you like this."

That kind of surprises me. I thought he'd be down for it, but I guess he really isn't a bad guy after all.

"You're such a fucking saint," Craig mutters, sounding sour.

From the other room, I hear the faint sounds of arguing. The voices are familiar and I immediately recognize them as Kyle and Wendy. I wander out of the kitchen until I find them. They look like they're in the middle of a heated disagreement.

"What's going on…?" I ask them.

They both look at me. Their expressions are unreadable, but I can tell it's something about me. "Kyle was –" Wendy starts, only to be cut off.

"Wendy, don't!" Kyle is snapping at her.

She holds up a hand, silently dismissing whatever his concern is. She approaches me and says, "Stan, I need to talk to you."

"Stop!" Kyle growls. "This literally has nothing to do with either of you!"

Wendy looks at him, eyes narrowing. "Stan has a right to know," she whispers. "Especially considering you two have the sort of relationship that you do." A pause. "Why don't you tell him instead? Then I won't have to."

He presses his lips together not saying a damn word.

"Fine," Wendy murmurs. "Kyle was fucking Rebecca Cotswolds."

Rebecca and Kyle go way back, but things have changed since we were kids. Rebecca is smart when it comes to school. Her intellect rivals Kyle's. That's why she's in our grade. She's a year younger, but she was able to move ahead.

I frown at that. "Oh… wow."

"Stan, I…" Kyle trails off, looking somewhat crestfallen.

I just shrug. "It's fine, Kyle," I say calmly. "Like you said, it's not my business. In the end, we're not together. We're just fucking. It doesn't actually mean anything. You don't need to justify it. You're allowed to go after whoever you want. I'm allowed to do the same." With that, I turn around and walk back into the kitchen.

By now, Craig is gone. I guess Jason took him home. In his place, I see Kenny. He looks disgruntled and miserable at the same time.

"What's up?" I ask, sitting next to him at the table.

"Damn it, I'm _pissed off_!" he growls, slamming his hands onto the table top. "I fucking _hate_ ecstasy! I hate hard drugs… I'm so restless right now." He stands up and says, "Fuck it, I'm gonna go do something."

"Sit down, poor boy!" Cartman interrupts, jumping off the counter and forcing Kenny back into his seat.

"Seriously, don't touch me, dude," Kenny brushes him off. "I'm so horny right now I would probably have sex with my own father."

"Ew, _Kinny_!" Cartman recoils, visibly repulsed.

Kenny was literally in the middle of a threesome and now he's horny again. Insatiable pervert. "Stan, c'mere," he says, holding his arms out to me. "Just come sit with me."

I stand up and round the table, sitting on his lap. I guess this is harmless enough. I play with his hair and he rubs his hands all over me. It feels good.

I don't know how much time passes, but eventually Kyle walks into the kitchen. He immediately sneers at me and Kenny and asks, "What the fuck are you guys doing?"

Before I can insist we're not doing anything, Kenny says, "What's it look like?" I'll go along with it. When Kyle doesn't respond I give Kenny a peck on the lips. "That all I get?" he teases.

"Stan, don't!" Kyle snaps. Clearly, for some reason, he doesn't want me to keep kissing Kenny. I know it's not for the reasons I want it to be. He's just being a dick.

"Why?" I ask. "I'm not allowed to kiss someone without your permission?"

"You're all fucking gay," Cartman mutters, adding his own two cents to the situation.

"I'm not," Kyle insists, visibly trying to calm himself down but he's not doing well.

"Me neither," Kenny says before adding, "Not that it matters at all."

"You have sex with dudes," Cartman points out, "and that makes you gay."

"No, it doesn't," I cut in wearily. "I'm the only gay one here."

"I like guys and girls," Kenny declares.

"Lovely," Cartman responds sarcastically. "Then you're half a fag. Now that we got all that out of the way, how 'bout you guys stop fighting."

"We're not fighting," Kyle decides before promptly leaving. I try going after him, but Kenny grabs me from behind, keeping me close.

"Not so fast, pal," he says. "You and Kyle are fucking toxic for one another when you're intoxicated. It'll probably be even worse since you're on drugs."

I let out a sigh, leaning against him. I know he's right.

* * *

><p>The night just gets stupider as time passes. Too many people on MDMA and everyone is grinding on one another, getting really sweaty. I'm no different. Me and Kenny have been jumping around on each other for the past hour while Wendy and Cartman are trying to keep everyone hydrated.<p>

Kyle seems to have forgotten about me by now. He's sitting with Rebecca in the corner of the room. She's all hands as they sloppily make out with one another. Every time I glance over at them, Kenny grabs me face and tells me to ignore them.

"Ugh," I whine, leaving the room after one too many glances. Kenny follows me with Wendy in tow.

"Stan, you're really sweaty," he says, pushing my bangs off of my forehead.

"Yeah," Wendy agrees. "You should sit in cold water."

Wendy is smart and Kenny is worldly. I guess I should listen to them. I really don't want to get sick.

They usher me upstairs and into the bathroom, locking the door. Wendy draws a bath and Kenny helps me undress like a fucking baby. I feel groggy now. I guess the high is starting to wear off.

"That was some potent shit," he murmurs. "If it was ecstasy pills, they were probably mixed with something gnarly. Hopefully it was just pure powder… but I guess we'll never know."

"Y'know, you're sweating as much as I am," I tell him.

"Yeah, but I have experience with this shit," he points out. "You don't."

"How?" I pry, but he only shrugs. He never talks about this shit. He never talks about anything that matters. He just cracks smiles and cracks jokes and laughs at everything.

When the bath is full, I step inside and sit. It's cold, but my skin is hot so it feels good. "Mm…"

"Wanna join him?" Wendy asks Kenny.

"Nah, I'll be fine," he says, offering her a smile. "I'll watch him, Wendy."

She nods and then warns, "Stay in here for a while and don't go home without telling me first."

"Dealio," Kenny says with a wink. He locks the door again once she's gone and sits at the edge of the bath. "My dad's friend…" he starts in a sombre murmur, pausing.

"Huh?" I tilt my head to the side, staring up at him.

He smiles and shakes his head. "Nah, never mind, dude. It's nothing. I'm just being a dumb slut."

Kenny should practice what he preaches. He often chides me for talking shit about myself, but he does it all the time. Then again, I know it means something different when he says it. Part of me wants to pry, but the other part of me doesn't really care right now. I know that sounds insensitive, but I feel really crappy and I don't want to get sick or pass out. So, we're both silent. He stares at the wall and I close my eyes, sinking deeper into the water. I cup my hands and rinse my face and, after a few more minutes, I decide to get out. I stand up and Kenny hands me a towel. I pat myself dry, put my clothes back on and the two of us go back downstairs to fetch glasses of water.

* * *

><p>The rest of the night goes by quickly. Everyone else just dances. I guess that in itself seems relatively harmless. Me and Kenny hide away in the kitchen until people start to leave. When 2AM passes, Cartman starts driving all the stupid drunks home. I think he loves this kind of shit. It makes him feel like the big man while we all make fools of ourselves. It makes him feel superior.<p>

Me and Kenny are some of the first to leave. I think Wendy wants me to get far away from Kyle ASAP. I end up letting Kenny crash with me upon his request.

At home, my mom greets us and asks how the party was. "It was boring," I lie easily, hoping my voice doesn't sound too strained. "Kenny is going to stay over tonight. We'll be quiet."

She nods and I fetch two glasses of water before following Kenny upstairs. In my room, he immediately sheds his clothes until he's in only his boxer shorts.

"Still warm?" I ask, handing him a glass of water.

"Yeah," he says with a sigh, sitting at my computer desk and sipping slowly. "I'm gonna kill Terrance, Fosse and Bill, I fucking swear. Why'd they think this would be funny?"

"Because they're evil?" I offer.

"Can I watch porn?" he asks offhandedly, changing the subject. "I'm horny and I need to nut."

"Yeah, just keep it on mute and try not to make too much noise," I tell him, locking my bedroom door.

I dim the lights and get into bed as Kenny clicks away on my laptop. He stops once he finds a video he likes. I dunno what he's watching. I'm too groggy to ask. I just stare as he whips his dick out and starts jacking off. I gotta hand it to him, he knows how to keep quiet.

* * *

><p>Rumor has it, Jason beat the shit out of Terrance for drugging Craig. I mean it when I say I'm fucking jealous of Craig. There's no way Kyle would do a thing like that for me. I bet Cartman is more likely to beat someone up for me than Kyle is. Kyle tends to treat me like I'm unimportant on most days. There are times he does the complete opposite, but it's not much lately.<p>

Rumor has it, Rebecca and Kyle are now dating. Kyle hasn't confirmed this and I don't want to ask him. I don't want to sound obsessed. Plus, we haven't spoken since his party. I don't want to be the one to break the awkward silence.

Rumor has it, I'm a fucking idiot. Oh, wait, that's not a rumor. That's just a fact.

It's Monday now. After school, Kenny comes over and we do our math homework together. Usually Kyle helps, but that's clearly not going to happen. So, instead, me and Kenny struggle amidst mad confusion.

"Hopefully we'll at least get fifty percent," he says.

"Yeah," I snort and he smiles a small smile. "You're way nice," I add as an afterthought. "Why do you act like such a dildo when Craig is around?"

He wrinkles his nose. "I meant it when I said I wanted to impress him. I act stupid when there's someone I want to impress. I dunno why. It's like I can't help it."

"You don't need to act like that to get laid," I murmur. "I had sex with you and you didn't have to pull that kind of shit. I think people prefer you when you're not being a dick."

He smiles at me again. "I'll try to remember that."

"Having sex with you was, like, way nicer," I admit with a frown. "Kyle hardly ever looks at me… but I guess that's to be expected from a walking no-homo like him."

Kenny's smile turns piteous. "Sorry, dude," he says, "but since we're on topic, anytime you're looking for a little _stress relief_, I'm always up for the task." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

I nod my head lazily and then we both pause, staring at one another. Just like that, we're both thinking the exact same thing. I watch as Kenny leans forward, locking our mouths together. I close my eyes upon impact and immediately part my lips. We make out sloppily, breathing harshly once we part. Without further ado, Kenny reaches for the rim of my shirt and I raise my arms, letting him take it off. He places a hand on my bare chest and gently pushes me back down onto the mattress. He hovers over me, fastening our mouths once more. I touch him through his sweatpants only to find out he's already hard. Naturally. He's also not wearing underwear, but that part isn't surprising.

When he draws away, he reaches for my jeans, unbuttoning them and sliding them down easily along with my shorts. "Cute," he coos, pinching my nipples. I try not to roll my eyes.

He slides his shirt up over his head and tosses it to the floor before grabbing the rim of his pants, pulling them down and exposing himself. He lies back, tossing his garments onto the floor.

"Saved you a seat," he jokes, lightly tapping his boner.

I sit up and kneel, grabbing his erection. It's hot and hard in my hand and the mere sight of it is making me even hornier. I want him to fuck me senseless.

I bend down, steadying myself before parting my lips. I lick up the shaft, twirling my tongue over the tip. "_Mm_… yeah…" Kenny moans encouragement. I relax my throat and take him in effortlessly. By now, my gag reflex is virtually nonexistent. I reach a hand between my legs and start jerking off as I bob my head. Kenny starts moving his hips, thrusting into my mouth. I hollow my cheeks and listen to his moans for a minute before halting. I pull away with a wet sound and stare at him, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "I wanna fuck you," he says in a gravelly voice, "and I'm gonna come in, like, five seconds if you keep doing that."

I just laugh, sitting on his abdomen and reaching for my nightstand. I open the first drawer and grab a condom and bottle of lube. I open the package and roll the condom on him easily before pouring lube into my hand and coating his dick.

"This is a new side of you…" he says in a strained tone. "I like it."

"Practise makes perfect, I guess," I murmur, "and I've had a _lot_."

He smiles faintly. "Yeah…"

I position myself and let out a shuddery moan, sinking onto his lap. Fuck what Craig said, Kenny's dick is definitely big enough.

I continue to impale myself on his cock and the rest happens in slow motion: the door swings open and Kyle is standing there. I immediately halt and clench, causing Kenny to stifle a moan.

We should have locked the fucking door.

"K-Kyle," I stutter. For some reason, I feel guilty – though I have no reason to be. I'm not doing anything wrong.

He looks mortified. "So, Kenny is your new best friend," he accuses, visibly dejected. "I get it. There's no room for Kyle in here, is there? No room for me."

"Kyle, no –" I try, but he cuts me off.

"It's fine," he murmurs. "I'll go."

"Damn it," I growl.

"Don't follow him," Kenny says quietly. "You're not in the wrong here. He is. Let him reflect on it for a while longer."

"Yeah," I agree softly.

Kenny slaps my thigh a brief moment later, wordlessly telling me to get on with it. So, I do. I feel like this is all I'm good at and it's a pretty recent skill. I'm a good lay… What else? Ha… I bet my dad would be so fucking proud if he knew about his whore of a son. Not. Good thing he's not home.

I let out breathy moans, panting and whining. Kenny thrusts his hips upward, meeting each jerk of my hips.

"Gonna come," he warns before letting out a grunt.

I continue riding him through his orgasm and when I lift myself off of him, my legs feel tired. I know I'm in decent physical shape, but I'm always exhausted. It's probably because I'm always sad and it's draining.

"Turn around, babe," Kenny says, patting my knee. "It's your turn."

I do so without question, pressing my face into the mattress and lifting my ass up. He cups my cheeks before spreading them. "Mm, nice," I hear him say as his finger slides in and out.

"More," I murmur, lazily jerking myself off as he adds another finger. I feel heat pool in my groin and I jizz on my bed sheets. What a mess. I'll definitely need to wash them.

When I'm about to sit up, I feel Kenny's tongue on my asshole. "Dude…" I murmur at the unfamiliar sensation. I've never been rimmed before.

"Sh, I'm gonna suck you out," he says before going back down.

I let out a lazy moan. I press my face into my bed sheets to stifle any more sounds I might make. It feels good, but also kind of disgusting. When he's finished, he gives me a really hard smack on my backside.

"You know," he starts offhandedly, "you could be getting some serious dick with an ass like that."

I sit up and turn around, staring at him. "I just want Kyle," I admit.

"Yet you settle for me," he says with a faint smile.

"That's not what I meant," I mumble.

"I know," he chuckles, standing up. "Don't look so sympathetic."

"What will you do about Craig?" I ask him, grabbing a handful of my bed sheets and bunching them around my crotch in a lazy attempt to make myself modest… not that it matters.

"I dunno," he admits, letting out another chuckle before throwing his clothes back on.

I simply nod my head. I guess I can't _force_ him to be nicer. "At Kyle's party… you were going to say something," I mention, "but then you didn't."

He wrinkles his nose. Once he's dressed, he says, "It's nothing."

"It didn't seem like nothing," I murmur and he lets out a quiet breath, staring at the floor. For some reason, the solemnness of the simple action worries me. He suddenly looks tired and weary. "Kenny…?" I say his name in a questioning tone, but he just shakes his head, remaining tight lipped.

"We shouldn't talk about it now," he murmurs. "It's not a good time."

"Why?" I ask.

"We just fucked," he points out and I have no idea what that has to do with anything.

"Come on," I whisper, gently urging him to open up for the first time in his fucking life. "We're friends… right? But you never talk to me. You never talk to _anyone_. It gets tiring to watch, y'know… I don't know how you do it. No one is as happy-go-lucky as you pretend to be. If there's something wrong, you should talk to your friends. Maybe we could help?"

He emits a bitter sounding laugh. "You can't," he says surely.

I frown at that. "Well… Maybe we could. You don't know until you ask."

"I _really_ hate hard drugs," he starts offhandedly, sitting down at my desk chair. He's tight-jawed. He looks angry, but I'm not sure why. He puts a hand over his mouth and sighs into his palm.

I nod, wordlessly telling him to continue, but he doesn't. "Kenny…" I say his name again.

"I was roofied last year," he reveals flatly, letting his hand fall to his lap.

I feel my eyes widen. "What?" I croak.

"Last year… one of my dad's buddies thought it'd be funny to spike my drink with pure MDMA," he says, speaking tersely and with undisguised repulsion. "My dad laughed because that's as far as it went and I just made a skanky idiot of myself, dancing and twirling around the room. But then it happened again, only this time it wasn't MDMA it was rohypnol. I recognized the signs too late… before I realized I wasn't safe in my own house. I felt myself get really drunk really fast and that feeling quickly went away. Soon, I just felt really dizzy an' nauseous, so I went upstairs and I lied down in my room. Fuckin' sicko followed me, took off my clothes… and he fucked me while I just lied there pretty much paralyzed." He grits his teeth. "Karen was the one who found me like that… I still couldn't move but I was somewhat aware of her. She screamed and then Kevin came in and he shouted for my parents. They all _saw…_ They saw me like that… completely degraded… and no one knew what to do. They just threw a blanket over me and I woke up sick and confused and there was dried blood caked between my legs, on my sheets, staining my mattress… and now we all pretend it didn't happen… because, for them, it's easier…" He pauses, letting out a quiet sob. "But it _did_ happen…" he finishes in a weak, wet voice. He stares blankly at the wall as his eyes begin leaking.

I start crying because he's crying and I don't know what to say or do. Kenny never cries. It's just not something he does. I don't think I've seen him cry since we were ten. I feel selfish for crying because this isn't about me, but I can't help it. It's just so sad and so wrong.

"I'm sorry," I choke out. "I'm really sorry, Kenny…"

He sniffles, wiping his runny nose on his hand and wiping his hand on his jeans. "S'fine," he murmurs, still staring emptily at the wall ahead of him. "It's just something shitty that happened."

"It's not fine," I whisper.

His shoulders shake and he lets out a shuddery breath. "God, I fucking _hate_ it…" he cries, putting a palm over his mouth and starting to completely unravel. "I still _sleep_ on that fucking bed!"

I stand up and approach him. He leans into me and I feel his hair tickling my bare stomach. I put a hand on his head and try to telepathically communicate to him that I'm here for him.

He continues to cry loudly and I've never witnessed pain like this before. It's a different kind of pain than mine or than Kyle's. "They don't understand that it's fucking _killing_ me…" he moans, sobbing miserably, "or maybe they just don't care…"

I'd like to tell him otherwise, but that might be a lie. I don't know how parents. All I know is that Carol had Karen when she was eighteen. She had Kenny when she was sixteen. She had Kevin when she was twelve. That aside, Stuart is almost twice her age. It's been a messy situation from the start

"You didn't deserve that," I say quietly. "I'm sorry it happened. It wasn't your fault."

He doesn't respond. He just continues to cry and I continue to hold him against me until he quiets. "It's not fucking fair…" he whispers, drawing away from me.

"I know," I agree gently.

He rises to his feet and stares into empty space with dull, glassy eyes. "I've been keeping that in for a long time," he says with a sigh, briskly wiping his cheeks. "I know it goes without saying… but don't tell anyone, okay?"

"I promise I won't," I tell him.

He nods absently before turning away and wandering out of my bedroom door. I grab the sheets off my bed, wrapping them around myself and follow him downstairs. "Fuck, I hate crying," he mutters. He slips his boots back on and grabs his coat.

"Kenny… if there's ever anything you need," I start, "and if there's anything I can do to help, just say the word. I'll always be here if you want to talk."

"Yeah… Thanks." He forces a hazy smile in my direction and then he's gone.

I go back upstairs and finally clean myself before deciding to take a nap. I'll wash the sheets later. I kill the lights and crawl back into bed. Sparky moves into the room and jumps onto the bed, lying next to me. He does this sometimes. It's like he can sense when I'm sad or something. He's getting old. He's ten now. I know I'll fucking lose my shit when he dies... but I'll try not to think about that. I try not to think about Kyle. I try not to think about Kenny. I try not to think about how much I fucking hate myself. I try not to think about anything at all.


	4. Let the games begin

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

* * *

><p>There is one more week until the trip. I don't know how I'm going to fare sharing a bed with Kyle when we haven't spoken in days. Turns out, we'll be rooming with Craig and Kenny. I don't know how this is going to end, but I have a feeling it won't be good.<p>

I feel lost. Every time I see Kenny, he turns the other way. It's like he's embarrassed. I want to tell him he shouldn't be. Every time I see Kyle, he's with Rebecca. I guess they really are together and it was't just a drunk and stupid hook up.

When lunch arrives, I find Cartman and Kenny sitting at a table in the cafeteria. I near them and see that Cartman is munching on Doritos while Kenny isn't eating anything at all. I would offer to buy him something, but he'd only say no.

"Hey, guys, what's up?" I ask them, taking a seat at the table.

"I fuckin' raped Butters' deserving ass at GTA last night," Cartman says.

And Kenny laughs. Of course he fucking does.

* * *

><p>After school, I see Rebecca at her locker. Part of me wants to talk to her, to ask her about Kyle… but I can't bring myself to open my mouth. When she sees me, however, she says my name.<p>

"Stan."

I approach her slowly and say, "Hey."

"You're Kyle's best friend, right?" she asks.

"I guess so," I tell her. "And you're his girlfriend, right?"

"I guess so," she echoes.

"Is he nice to you?" I can't help but pry. I hope he is. I don't want Kyle to turn into a bigger asshole than he already is.

She nods and smiles. "He really knows how to make a girl feel special. He's always… really gentle and kind… Plus, he eats pussy like he was made for it."

I force a chuckle. "Awesome." It makes me feel miserable. Knowing this is like once again being faced with the fact that Kyle sincerely never gave a shit about me. I was always convenient. I was always expendable. I was always around.

"Though…" she starts slowly, "I wish I could make him feel better. He gets upset a lot."

"Yeah," I murmur. "I know."

"What do you do to get him to open up?" she wonders aloud, frowning.

I give her a piteous smile. "There's something you need to learn about Kyle… He's, like, anything but self-sufficient, though he pretends otherwise and he'll get pissed off when you pry too much. So, people just let Kyle do as he pleases. It's not healthy. It's not right. I guess we're enabling him… but we don't know what else to do. He's stubborn. Avoid words like _maybe_ or _might_, though. He doesn't like wishy-washy answers. He doesn't like the word _no_ either, but sometimes it's necessary."

Her frown deepens. "Oh," is all she musters up.

"Good luck," I mutter before wandering down the hallway.

Speak of the devil. Outside, I see Kyle talking to Terrance. I don't know why he's doing that, considering that asshole bitch drugged a bunch of people at his party. Then again, maybe drugs are what Kyle wants.

Nearby, Kenny is arguing with Craig again. It doesn't look too heated. Craig has his sunglasses on, per usual. His stitches are out by now, too. He just looks incredibly bored and Kenny looks like he's once again trying to justify himself. When he sees me approaching, he bids Craig a hasty farewell and runs off.

"Fuck's sake…" I sigh.

"What?" Craig asks, glancing at me.

"Kenny's ignoring me," I murmur.

"I wish he'd ignore me," Craig snorts.

"He _likes_ you," I offer. "He might not be acting like it… but he does. He admitted to wanting to impress you. That's true, but there's probably something more to it than just that. He doesn't care about impressing people, but he wants to impress you. He can be a dick, but he's got a soft center. Be patient with him, okay?"

Craig softens for a split second before letting the stoic mask take over once more. "Whatever," he murmurs. "Don't excuse his bullshit. He called me a skank."

"He calls himself a skank all the time," I say. "It's a word he uses lightly. To him, it's the same as saying someone is tired or cold. It isn't really malicious when he says it."

"I guess, in a sense, it's true," Craig murmurs offhandedly. He speaks quietly, almost as if he's saying it to himself. A split second later, he shakes his head and shakes the thought away before adding, "Anyway, like I said – _whatever_." After that, he walks away and starts towards the bus.

I decide to walk home again, but as I'm about to leave the school gates a truck pulls up. Inside, I see Cartman with Wendy in the passenger seat.

"Get in, you miserable homo," Cartman says with a sigh when Wendy rolls down the window. "We'll drive you home."

I do so without complaint or comeback. I settle in the backseat and, as we drive of, Wendy says, "How was your day, Stan?"

"Uneventful," I tell her.

"Everyone is so boring lately," Cartman mutters. "Christ. We'll be going on a vacation this weekend and I swear if y'all start whining and crying I'll kick yah in the nuts."

"Eric," Wendy warns. "Be nice."

"Yeah, _Eric_, be nice," I echo in a simper.

Cartman mutters some indiscriminate protest, but doesn't go any further. He's Wendy's bitch now.

I guess I'll have to give Kenny some space for. I guess I'll have to give Kyle some space, too.

Cartman drives me home. I thank him and bid them a goodbye before going inside. I'm immediately greeted with the sounds of shouting. My parents are arguing again. How lovely. I don't bother greeting them. Instead, I just take off my boots and jacket and go straight to my room. I lock myself in and I don't plan on coming out for the rest of the night.

* * *

><p>I spend the following school day with Wendy and Cartman because no one else seems to want me around.<p>

"What's with you?" Cartman asks, sneering. We're on free period and I'm trying not to mope, but I feel so anxious. I'm anxious about Kenny. I'm anxious about Kyle. I'm anxious about the trip. For fuck's sake, I'm even anxious about Craig and I have no idea why. I guess I just want him to give Kenny a chance.

Nonetheless, I say, "Nothing."

Cartman just rolls his eyes at me, not believing my lie. "Whatever," he mutters. "I won't pry. I don't need to know about your gay shit."

I'm about to protest, but I stop myself. I doesn't even fucking matter.

* * *

><p>By Thursday, Kenny finally allows me to approach him. This time, he doesn't run the other way.<p>

"You're avoiding me," I accuse when I find him at the bus stop. School is over and tomorrow morning the class will be leaving on the stupid trip to see the stupid sports game. No one really wants to go, but I guess it's better than being in South Park.

"Because I'm fucking embarrassed," Kenny mutters, rubbing a hand down his solemn face. "I'm _not_ a crier."

"It's fine," I promise him. "You're allowed to cry. Everyone cries."

"I don't," he says. "I didn't even cry after that _thing_ happened. I just… I don't know. Whatever."

I let out a quiet sigh. "No, not _whatever_. You're allowed to be angry and sad over it, Kenny. It's a pretty awful thing…"

He just shrugs. "I guess it kind of feels good to talk about it…"

"Bottling things in his rough," I sympathize. "It only gets harder. It takes a toll. Don't ever feel like you have to silence yourself. I'll always be here to listen, 'kay?"

"Yeah, 'kay," he repeats in a murmur. "Thanks, Stan… it's just… It's hard."

"I know," I whisper.

He slumps forward. "Do you really?" he wonders.

"Not really," I admit. "Sorry."

"What was it like when you woke up and realized you let a stranger fuck you?" he asks.

"It was different than what you experienced," I tell him. "I was into it when I was drunk. I initiated it. I thought I'd be fine with it when I was sober… but I wasn't. I just felt kind of bad and used up."

He frowns, nodding slowly. "I feel like that, too… God, I was hung over for days. On top of feeling repulsive, I felt physically terrible. I could hardly move, yet all I wanted was to clean myself off. Karen ended up apologizing to me the following day. She cried. I cried. It was messy. She helped me shower and she cleaned my bed as best as she could. We flipped the mattress over. Kevin ended up beating the shit out of the guy who did it… but now that it's done, we pretend everything is normal again. For me, I doubt it ever will be."

"Maybe you should talk to the school counselor?" I suggest.

He wrinkles his nose at that. "No, she wouldn't help. She wouldn't care. She'd just say something stupid and send me on my way."

"Yeah, maybe…" I murmur. Most of the staff at our school is kind of absent-minded. Welcome to South fuckin' Park. Everyone is like that, here, so it seems. Even the parents. My dad is a good example of that kind of trash. God, I hate it. I hate being here, but I know I'll probably never leave and nothing will change. Once you're in South Park, you're here for good. It sucks you in and if you try to leave, it just sucks you back.

"It just… It fucking sucks," he says. "I dunno what to do with myself. Days after my sickness subsided, I went to Bebe. I didn't tell her what happened. I just told her I wanted her to fuck me because she was comfortable and familiar and it's not like it was the first time we had sex. I think she was confused. She didn't know what I wanted her to do… So I straight up told her to fuck me in the ass with a dildo. Anyway, she was nice. Gentle and all that shit. She made me feel better, though it was only for moments."

"That's not how you solve problems," I whisper.

"I know that," he says with a shrug, "but I guess knowing it hasn't ever really stopped me. It's like... Every time I fuck another person or let another person fuck me, that sick freak is still there and I remember what he did to me. I doubt that'll ever change, even if I got therapy. It can't change... When someone literally invades your inner and outer being, they leave marks."

"Oh," I say quietly. "I'm... I'm really sorry, Kenny."

He smiles and shrugs again. "Don't apologize, Stan."

Soon the bus pulls up and I can tell the conversation is over for now. Me and Kenny get in, silently sitting with one another. I see Kyle enter with Rebecca and I feel jealous as hell.

"Don't pay attention to them," Kenny murmurs, nudging me.

I glance away, staring out the window. We'll be leaving tomorrow morning and I haven't even packed my bag yet. I bet I'm not the only one. When the bus reaches my stop, I bid Kenny a, "See yah," and then walk home.

Once I'm inside, I go straight upstairs and grab a duffle bag. I throw a pair of pajama pants inside, a couple t-shirts and some underwear. I decide to start charging my phone so it'll be at full life for the bus ride, but I'll have to remember to pack it. I'll have to remember my toothbrush and toothpaste as well. I move into the bathroom and grab my shampoo and soap, since cheap hotels usually carry cheap shit.

"What else…?" I murmur to myself.

I decide to pack a book in case I need to pretend I'm busy. So, I bring _Into the Wild_. Maybe I'll read it if things get awkward in the hotel room. I also pack a blanket since hotels are kind of scuzzy.

When I'm finished, I go back downstairs and into the kitchen to get food. My parents are in there sitting at the table. They seem to be getting along right now… but it won't last. I swear, the next time my mum runs away I'm going with her.

"Hi, Stanley," she greets.

"Hi, Mom," I say. "I'll be leaving tomorrow… the school trip, remember?"

She nods and smiles absently. "Do you want a drive there?"

"No, it's fine," I say. "I can walk."

I make myself a sandwich and it's quiet again. My dad leafs through the paper and my mom just stares off into space. With a sigh, I turn away and go upstairs to eat.

* * *

><p>The following morning, I make my way down to the school with my bag slung over my shoulder. When I get there, the Greyhound bus is already parked and ready. The teachers look frantic as they try to control the students. I join the crowd and wait for directions.<p>

"Okay, guys, I want you all to sit with the person you'll be sharing a bed with," our homeroom teacher starts. "That way we can keep track of everyone."

Well, fuck. I don't know if I am ready to talk to Kyle again so soon. When everyone's luggage is stored in the greyhound, I make sure I board the bus before Kyle. This way, I can get the window seat and I won't have to worry about finding him.

He ends up finding me without a problem. "Hey," he murmurs, sitting down next to me and staring straight ahead.

"Hey," I echo.

Before any more words can be exchanged, Craig and Kenny sit down behind us. "We'll all be rooming together!" Kenny exclaims.

"Joy," I say cynically.

"Lovely," Craig adds.

"Can't wait," Kyle mutters.

"Wow, why are you all so damn sour?" Kenny asks. "I'm just trynna keep things light and have a good time." A pause. "Hey, Kyle?"

"Hm?" Kyle responds in question, not sounding like he's all that interested.

"How is it possible for a guy to have multiple orgasms?"

Kyle looks thoughtful for a moment before shrugging. "It's rare, but detumescence doesn't always occur, so it allows for constant stimulation and thus more orgasms."

I turn around and see that Craig's cheeks are red. I'm not sure if he's angry or embarrassed.

Kyle doesn't see. He just pries with, "Why are you asking?"

Kenny just smiles before saying, "Rumor has it, Craig can have a buncha orgasms."

"I never said that," Craig murmurs tersely. "It's other people saying it."

"So, is it true?" Kenny pries. Craig keeps his lips pressed together, giving Kenny the meanest look ever. "I'll take your silence as a _yes_," Kenny snorts. "Know what I'd like? I'd like to see you prove it."

"Kenny…" I say warningly. He's going to overstep his bounds if he doesn't shut up.

"You don't deserve to see that much of me, you redneck dumbfuck," Craig responds evenly.

Kenny closes his eyes and sighs, feigning hurt as he clasps a hand over his chest. "Craig, you slay me. This ol' heart is fragile, you know."

Craig rolls his eyes, but I see him stifle a smile at Kenny's dramatization.

When everyone is settled on the bus, the teachers do a roll call. With everyone present, the bus starts to move.

I take my phone out of my pocket and put my earphones on, deciding to listen to music. Anything is better than listening to Kenny try and fail to hit on Craig. From my peripheral vision, I watch Kyle. He turns to the side and starts chatting with Bebe, who is sitting across from us with Wendy. They're laughing, but I don't hear what it is they're saying. I keep trying to tell myself I don't care, but it's such a fucking joke. I care. I care far too much. At least Kyle seems to be in a good mood today.

I stare out the window, watching the scenery pass. I begin to get a headache. I turn off my music but I keep my earphones in and eavesdrop on everyone.

I hear Kenny asking questions about all the guys in Craig's life.

"So, did you fuck him?" Kenny asks.

"No," Craig says.

"Who are you fucking, then?" Kenny pries some more.

"That's none of your business, is it?"

I want to roll my eyes at the both of them. Kyle is still talking with Bebe, but the conversation is pretty dull.

Suddenly, I get a text. It's from Wendy. It reads –

WENDY: How are you holding up?

ME: I'm fine.

WENDY: Are you sure?

ME: Yes!

WENDY: Have you spoken with Kyle at all?

ME: We said hi.

WENDY: That's all?

ME: That's all.

WENDY: You should both make up otherwise you won't have much fun on the trip.

ME: I know. I just don't know how. Things are tense between us.

WENDY: Try to talk to him when you both have a moment alone. Bring it up gently, you know how defensive he can get.

ME: I know. I'll try talking to him when we're off the bus.

I put my phone away after that and take out my headphones. I don't want to text her anymore. I don't want to think about Kyle anymore, either.

* * *

><p>When we arrive, our homeroom teacher stands up and says, "Okay, first everyone will settle into their rooms. You're allowed to spend the day in the city doing whatever you want, but if you miss curfew you'll be in trouble. Tomorrow is the game and after that we'll be heading home. Everyone got it?"<p>

After a sporadic murmur of dull responses, we all leave the bus and collect our bags.

Kyle stands with his girlfriend while I stand with Kenny and Craig. We're all led to our rooms one by one and trust me when I say they are hardly glamorous. I definitely won't be sleeping under the covers here. Thank Christ I packed my own blanket.

Kenny and Craig automatically claim the bed closest to the window-wall. Me and Kyle are stuck with the bed that is in the corner, but that's fine. I don't really care either way.

"What do you guys want to do?" Kenny asks.

"Nothing," Craig says flatly.

"Come on, don't be boring," Kenny whines.

"Well, what are you going to do?" Craig retorts, crossing his arms.

Kenny shrugs. "I have weed. Wanna get high?"

"No," Craig says flatly. "I don't drink or do drugs of any sort."

"Right," Kenny murmurs.

"You brought weed here?" I ask with a dull sigh.

"And alcohol," he adds. "I don't give a shit about sports. I can't be sober while watching that stupid game."

"Why did you even come?" I snort.

"Because I didn't want to miss anything," he admits, shrugging. "I knew if I didn't go, I probably would and then Eric wouldn't shut up about it for the following week."

"Hm, probably," I admit. He does that a lot – especially to Kenny. It sucks because Kenny has had to miss out on a lot of stuff since he doesn't have money. Cartman always tends to rub it in his face.

"I'll smoke with you," Kyle says.

"Atta boy," Kenny winks. "Let's hot box the bathroom."

The two of them head into the cupboard of a bathroom, leaving me and Craig by ourselves. There's a look of distaste on his face. "Does he always need to be intoxicated?"

"I don't know," I murmur. "He avoids the hard stuff, but maybe this helps."

"With what?" he pries.

I just shake my head. "Never mind. I dunno. His parents are just huge dicks."

Ten minutes later, the smell is seeping past the door and all through our hotel room. I take a whiff and then move towards the window, cracking it open. Craig stands in front of it, not wanting to get contact high. I stare at Craig. He looks angry.

By the time Kenny and Kyle leave the bathroom, they're both stifling fits of giggles, nudging each other like they have some great inside joke. Craig sneers at the both of them, pulling his sweater up over his nose and leaving the room.

I'm tempted to follow in his steps and leave, but I can't let these two assholes stay by themselves. They might get into trouble. I sit down on the edge of the bed I'm sharing with Kyle and a split second later, Kenny flops onto the mattress, pinning me down. He's not pulling a move on me; he's just being affectionately annoying.

"Dude, you're suffocating me!" I complain, patting his back.

"Are you guys still fucking?" Kyle asks flatly, staring at us from where he stands. He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. He's definitely not laughing anymore.

"On and off," Kenny admits.

Kyle looks unimpressed. "Well, stop," he says. "I thought you were trying to get into Craig's pants? You're not gonna succeed by fucking someone else."

"It's not like Craig knows," Kenny justifies himself, rolling off of me and sitting up. "Besides, Craig is single and fucking whoever. Me and Stan are also single. If we want to have sex, you can't stop us, dude."

Kyle huffs. "I'm just saying it's fucking _stupid_," he mutters before leaving.

I glance at Kenny and he shrugs his shoulders.

"I kind of look like Craig," I say offhandedly before perching myself up on my elbows. "I never really noticed it until I stared at him earlier. I guess I've never been close enough to him to really see it until earlier. I'm a bit shorter than he is, but apart from that…"

Kenny nods his head. "You've got the same hair color," he starts in a murmur. "But yours is straight while his is a bit wavier and parted to the side. You've got the same eye color, skin color and body shape, too."

"Do you ever pretend I'm him?" I ask.

"No," Kenny promises. "I wouldn't do that."

"You can if you want…" I say.

He gives me an incredibly piteous look. "Stan, why are you like this? You're literally _allowing_ me to completely disrespect you. Why?"

"I don't know," I admit, staring at him. "Why don't I care?"

He forces a sad smile, wrapping his arms around me and patting my back. "I don't know…" I sigh into his shoulder and he adds, "I'd never do that to you. I wouldn't do it to anyone, but especially not you."

"All right," I say mechanically.

Christ, I'm pathetic.

* * *

><p>Soon enough, the teachers grab us for lunch and we all file downstairs into the hotel's dining area. Kenny spots Craig sitting with Clyde and we decide to sit with them. Kyle, on the other hand, is with his girlfriend and her friends.<p>

"Go out with me," Kenny says as soon as he sits down.

"No," Craig responds for what feels like the millionth time.

"Why?" Kenny asks with a frown. He's probably not used to being shut down like this.

"Because I don't like guys like you," Craig says. "I'm not a conquest."

"Doesn't Jason see you like that?"

"No," Craig admits. "First and foremost, he sees me as a person because that's what I am. I sleep with him because I want to. He treats me nicely."

"He's straight," Kenny points out.

"So, what?" Craig mutters. "Lots of straight guys sleep with other guys."

"I guess," Kenny relents.

"You know," Craig continues, "it isn't romantic to pursue someone like this. It's just annoying." A pause. "What do you like about me, McCormick?" he asks offhandedly. "You don't know me at all, so I don't understand why you want to be with me. You just want to fuck me and that's all."

"I want to get to know you," Kenny protests.

"Let's get one thing straight," Craig starts, staring at Kenny with a dull expression. "I know you used to like making fun of my mom for not shaving, but I don't shave down there either."

"That's fine," Kenny says. "It's your choice. I was a stupid kid. I was too easily influenced by the pornography I watched. I get that reality is different."

Me and Clyde continue to listen to their back and forth awkwardly as we eat. I move the food around on my plate with my fork, picking at it for a while before deciding I'm not even hungry. I go back upstairs, grabbing my phone and deciding to make a getaway before everyone else returns from lunch.

I leave the hotel lobby and on my way out, I see that I wasn't the only one who skipped out on eating.

"Hey, fag," Terrance calls to me while Bill and Fosse laugh.

I ignore them and walk off. I leave the hotel parking lot and just keep on walking, wandering foreign streets and avenues. I feel like I can't even fucking breathe. I don't know why I'm so upset, but I feel like total shit.

I'm not sure for how long, but eventually I lose track of where I am. Apart from that, it's getting dark outside. "Fuck," I groan, turning around and starting to retrace my steps.

* * *

><p>By the time I find my way back, it's almost nine and I'm sweating from running around in a panic.<p>

"Where were you?" Kenny asks as soon as I walk in. "You missed supper. You were gone _forever_."

"Just clearing my head," I say with a careless shrug.

"We were close to telling the teachers on you," Kyle adds. "If you didn't return quickly, we would've. Curfew passed. We pretended you were asleep when they came to do the checks."

"Sorry," I mumble, reaching for my overnight bag. I dig out clean clothes and my toiletries before saying, "I'm going to shower."

I feel like I'm going nuts.

I turn into the bathroom and shut the door, locking it just in case. I reach for the taps, turning the nozzle on and undressing. When the water is hot, I sit on the bottom of the tub and wash my hair. My legs fucking hurt.

I try to be quick, but even after rinsing off I can't bring myself to stand up. I just sit still with my eyes closed, letting the water cascade.

I really wish I liked girls. It never ends well when you fall for a straight guy.

After a few more minutes, I force myself to stand up. I reach for the taps, turning them off and pulling back the curtains. I towel off and throw on my pajama pants and a t-shirt, brushing my teeth before leaving the bathroom.

"Finally," Kyle mutters, moving past me.

I shove my things back into my bag and when Kyle returns, he falls asleep almost immediately. He probably took a sleep aid of some sort. Maybe that's what he was buying from Terrance.

I lie down next to him and try to block out the sounds of Kenny and Craig's chatter. At least they seem to be getting along. I wonder what changed while I was running around Denver like a lost dog.

* * *

><p>The following morning, I feel Kyle pressed up against me. His morning wood is digging into my ass. I want to move away, but I don't. I just stay still. I glance over at Kenny and Craig. Craig has his arm tossed over Kenny's face, but they both look like they're nowhere near waking up.<p>

We've still got time until the stupid game starts. It starts at six and, according to the digital clock on the nightstand, it's only nine.

I lie still until Kyle shifts. He sits up and crawls over me, going into the bathroom. A second later, I hear the shower. I get out of bed, grabbing my phone before crawling back under the covers. I check my phone and see that I have a few missed texts from Wendy.

WENDY: Hey.

WENDY: How are you?

WENDY: Text me back, you little shit.

I can't help but smile to myself as I respond to her. I tell her I'm fine and I tell her I got lost last night, but I'm found my way back.

I put my phone on the nightstand and lie back down. A split second later, an alarm starts sounding.

Kenny lets out a long groan, grabbing his pillow from under his head and putting it over his head.

"Sorry," Craig says without remorse. "I set an alarm. I'm meeting Clyde." He gets up and grabs his phone, turning the alarm off.

Kenny just groans again in response. After a minute, he sits up. He looks dazed. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and glances at the clock before glancing at Craig. "Do you usually get up at the crack of Satan's ass?"

"It's not that early," Craig insists, "and yes, I do. If I don't stay on a sleep schedule then my pattern will get messed up and I won't ever be able to get to bed."

Craig removes his sleep clothes in favor of jeans and a sweatshirt. Kenny stares at him the entire time, not even bothering to hide it.

"Perv," Craig calls him out once he'd dressed. I don't know why he wouldn't just go to the bathroom to change. Maybe he's an exhibitionist. Maybe he wants to taunt Kenny. Then again, maybe he wanted to show himself off.

"Sorry," Kenny snickers. "I lack the will power to look away from someone hot and naked."

Craig rolls his eyes, shoving his cellphone into his back pocket. He zips up his bag and drops it by the door. "I'm leaving. The teachers want us packed and ready for roll call at five, remember. They want to the load our luggage before we go to the game, that way when it's over we can board the bus and go back to South Park."

Kenny sighs, sitting up. "I'm not even gonna bother getting dressed. Fuck it." He puts his cellphone in the pocket of his sweater and leaves with Craig.

I'm probably not going to budge an inch until the teachers call us down. Fuck, I wish I didn't come on this trip. I don't like sports. It's too tense and my anxiety is at an all new high.

When Kyle leaves the bathroom, he's dressed in lazy clothes – much like Kenny. He has on a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. His hair is damp and he just stares at me. "Where are the other two?"

"They went to eat," I say.

"Why didn't you go?"

"I'm not hungry," I admit. He gets back into bed with me and I try to refrain from moving away when I feel him press himself against me. "What about Rebecca?" I ask. "Your girlfriend…"

"She won't have to know," he says carelessly.

I feel myself frown, but I can't say no. "Okay," I whisper, rolling over to face him.

I slip my hand down his pants and he confesses, "I didn't bring any condoms…"

"That's fine," I say.

"I don't have lube, either," he adds.

I move away from him, standing up and going into the bathroom to grab the hand cream. "I guess we can use this," I say.

Without another word, we both shrug out of our clothes. We've done this enough times for it to be unceremonious by now. No emotions. No strings attached. Well, at least that's how it was supposed to be. Things never work out the way you plan.

"C'mere," he says, lying down on his back, his erection taut against his lower abdomen.

I crawl between his legs and reach for his dick, parting my lips before taking him in. I don't like giving blowjobs, but I don't mind giving them to guys like Kenny and even Kyle. I feel like I should hate it. I should hate everything about my _secret_ experiences with Kyle, but I don't. I almost… cherish them, as sick and sad as it sounds (even though it makes me feel like shit).

When I draw away, I lie next to him and roll to my side. He lies behind me, grabbing my leg and lifting it up. I close my eyes as unfamiliar pain takes over. It hurts with just cheap hotel lotion as lube. I take in a sharp breath and hold it, trying to relax my lower body.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Mhm," I insist in a strained voice. Maybe it's stupid of me to lie like this, but I want to please him.

* * *

><p>By the time it's over, my ass feels numb. When he pulls out, I release a breath I didn't know I was holding.<p>

"Want me to get you off?" he asks.

"No," I say meekly. I'm flaccid and I know I'm going to be sore later on once the numbness wears off.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No," I say again.

"Stop lying," Kyle murmurs.

I sit up slowly and walk into the bathroom, locking the door and sitting on the toilet. I reach a hand between my legs, sticking a finger up my ass. It hurts and it hurts even worse as I remove it. I do so slowly. "Shit," I whisper, staring down. Apart from semen, there's blood. It's only a tiny bit, but it's there. I grab a handful of toilet paper and press it to my backside. Isn't this how you can get STDs? I shake the thought away. I won't think about it now. I'll get tested when we're back home.

Gross. I'm so gross.

After a minute, I stand up. No more blood. Just Kyle's jizz. I flush the toilet, wash my hands and then leave the bathroom.

"You okay…?" Kyle asks slowly.

"Yeah, I'm totally fine," I say with a laugh.

Kyle just frowns, but he doesn't press me further. Instead, the two of us throw our lazy clothes back on, pack up our bags and finally go downstairs to eat.

* * *

><p>Kyle spends the rest of the day with his girlfriend while I hang around Kenny, Craig and Clyde. When 5PM approaches, everyone returns to their rooms and grabs their bags, throwing them on the bus.<p>

The game is going to be really shitty. Jason, Clyde, Token and the other jocks seem excited, but I could care less. I've never been sports-inclined. That's always been Kyle. Even Cartman is part of the football team. He's a linebacker. I think that's how he befriended and started dating Wendy. She's head cheerleader on top of being the head of student council and captain of the girl's volleyball team. Her extracurricular activities are intimidating. She does it all while maintaining a steady relationship with those around her and, ultimately, maintaining sanity. I don't know how she does it.

Sports were forced onto me when I was a kid and now I fucking hate them. I think this is yet another reason my dad finds me so disappointing. I'm nothing like he wanted me to be. It reminds me of Sparky. I never wanted a gay dog. Maybe my dad never wanted a gay son. However, unlike my dad… I learned my lesson. It's ironic. My uncle Jimbo is gay with Ned and my dad doesn't give them shit for it... Oh, well. Fuck it.

When everyone's shit is on the bus, we drive to the stadium. It's loud. I've never been a fan of crowds and loud places.

I clasp my hands over my ears as we find out seats. I sit at the opposite end of Kyle. He's once again with his girlfriend and I'm once again with Kenny, Craig and some of Craig's friends.

When the game starts, the arena starts to roar.

This is gonna be shit.


	5. Drawing blood

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thanks for the nice reviews :)**

* * *

><p>The game went by slowly. I don't even remember who won. I zoned out for most of it, just thinking about stupid, little things. My butt hurt the entire time. I kept shifting and fidgeting and Kenny kept shooting me strange looks. I think he knew what was up. He always seems to.<p>

The ride home was even slower than the game was. Rebecca and Heidi sat behind us and I had to listen to her and Kyle talking the entire time. I forgot to charge my phone, so it died halfway. I tried to read, but I got motion sickness and I couldn't even drown out the sounds of their voices. It was fuckin' painful.

When I got home, my mom asked me if I had fun. "No," I responded. She probably expected a sour answer.

On Monday I went to the sexual health clinic after class and got tested for the first time. A doctor asked me some awkward questions about my sexual "practises" and then I had to show her my ass because I was still sore. It was fucking embarrassing because she was totally old. I think she could tell how humiliated I was because she tried to be as comforting as possible. Ha, you can't really comfort someone while they're asshole is staring at you like a third eye. I told her I've never been tested before even though I've had sex quite a lot. So, to be safe, she took a blood sample, a swab, and made me piss in a cup. The works.

I just got my results back. Nothing is wrong, thank Christ. I guess things just got a bit too rough and there wasn't sufficient lubricant. Lesson learned.

It's Friday. That means it's the weekend again. School ended hours ago. I'm almost glad to be back. The trip was only two days, but it took a lot out of me. Social activities usually do.

I'm on my way to Kyle's. I know I shouldn't, but he seemed so lost in school today. Rebecca asked me to check on him and I couldn't exactly tell her _no_ without explaining why I didn't want to see my best friend.

So, here I am.

Kyle's parents are gone away again but I told him not to have any parties this weekend. He agreed surprisingly easily. It's strange for the Broflovski residence to be this quiet on a weekend, but it's a relief.

"Kyle?" I call, letting myself in.

No response.

"Kyle?" I shout louder this time, but he still doesn't answer. With a groan, I begin wandering the floor, but he's nowhere in sight. I go into the basement and still no sign, so I make my way up to the third floor. I check his bedroom, his bathroom, Ike's bedroom… but nothing.

Ha. I knew he wouldn't be in Ike's room. I've only found him in there once. It was the summer after Ike died. I let myself in and found Kyle there. He was just sitting on Ike's bed. He wasn't crying. He didn't look sad at all. He just looked completely empty. He probably felt that way, too. I said his name and took his hand and we left. I didn't ask him why he was in there. I don't think even Kyle knew the answer. Ever since then, the door remains locked.

I move down the hallway and into his parents' room. I hear… bubbling? It's coming from Sheila and Gerald's bathroom. I open the door and let out a sigh of relief. Kyle is in his parents' bath tub. They have a Jacuzzi. He's smoking and there's an ashtray sitting on the edge of the tub with a fair amount of cigarette butts inside.

"Stan," he murmurs my name.

"How long have you been in here?" I ask him.

"Dunno…" he admits.

I reach into the cool water and pull the plug. Clearly he's been sitting here for a while. I grab him a towel and hold it out for him. He puts the cigarette between his lips and dries himself off as the water drains. He takes the ash tray into his room and sets it on the nightstand, taking one last puff before shoving the cigarette into the dish. He moves to his closet, putting on a pair of boxers, sweatpants and a t-shirt. I watch him dress, feeling horny and miserable because of it. He seems to notice because he starts smiling. When he's dressed, he nears me and puts his arms around my neck.

"Why do we still do this if you have a girlfriend?" I murmur the question, unable to make my voice sound louder or stronger.

"Because I want to," he responds.

"But _why_?" I urge almost tearfully. The entire situation is fucking cruel and I _know_ it. I should tell him to back off. I should tell him to stop. I should demand respect. I should want more for myself.

"I need you," he says, "and this is how I show you."

"That makes no fucking sense," I whisper. Nothing Kyle says or does makes sense anymore. I know his issues run deep, but sometimes I wonder if it's purely because of Ike.

"I don't like Rebecca anymore," he explains out of the blue. "She bothers me."

I pale and ask, "Why?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "She just does."

"Shouldn't you break up with her, then?"

Nonetheless, he doesn't respond. He just leans forward, kissing me. It's surprisingly passionate and I wonder if this is something he fakes easily. Still, I kiss him back and let him take off my clothes. This time, like many other times, he keeps his on and just pushes his pants down below his hip bones.

He grabs the lube and rolls a condom on. I move onto his bed, settling on my hands and knees. I can feel him watching me, staring at my most private parts. A second later, I feel one of his fingers slide in easily. I try to enjoy it, but there's a mix of emotions sitting in the pit of my stomach. There's guilt and anxiety among many others. I feel bad for helping Kyle cheat on his girlfriend. I guess it makes me as shitty as he is. We're both shitty people.

Fuck, look at me. I sunk so low and I'm still sinking. I never thought this is where I would be when I was young. I thought I'd be strong. I wanted to be. It's just so fucking difficult. Everything is.

I clutch the bed sheets. Kyle likes to fuck hard and fast. I feel myself lurching forward with each sharp thrust. However, this time, unlike last, it doesn't hurt.

I shouldn't love Kyle. I shouldn't love someone who keeps me on a string like this. I should have more respect for myself, but no matter how many times is say these things it never truly registers. I keep doing this. If I can't even respect myself, how can I expect anyone else to respect me?

I get myself off first, making a mess of Kyle's bed sheets in the process. I feel him pull out and I turn around as he removes the condom. He starts jerking off and I open my mouth obediently. It tastes hot and thick on my tongue, but I still swallow willfully.

Why do guys like cumming on people? It's something I never understood. It's something I see in porn all the time. It's something guys like Kenny and Kyle do. It's not something I ever did to Wendy. It's not something I ever _wanted_ to do to her.

When I stand up, I turn around and what I see nearly makes me choke.

Rebecca standing in the doorway to Kyle's bedroom. There's a wide-eyed look on her face as she stares at us. "What the _fuck_?" she asks in a high pitched voice.

"Shit," Kyle hisses, hiking his pants back up.

I frantically grab a handful of his bed sheets, wrapping myself in them.

Rebecca takes a step inside. "What the _fuck_?" she shouts again. "What the fuck were you doing?!"

"Fucking," Kyle tells her flatly. As if the entire thing wasn't obvious.

"But _why_?" she shrieks. She's red-faced and furious.

"I felt like it," he confesses unceremoniously.

She turns away from him and stares at me. She looks so fucking angry it's scary. "This is your fault!" she accuses. "You probably seduced him!"

"I didn't –" I try to defend myself weakly, but she cuts me off.

"You… You slut!" she screams, shoving me. "You stupid slut! Boyfriend stealing whore! I'm going to tell _everyone_ at school about this!"

The words sting more than I can say, but all I can do is stare at the floor. The reason they sting so much is because I know she's right. I can't defend myself. I'm shaking and I feel smaller than I've ever felt in my life. I should've said no to Kyle. I should've said it for him and for her and especially for me. But I didn't. There is such a big list of things I should and should've have done in my life and the list keeps getting bigger and bigger.

"God," Rebecca laughs bitterly. "You don't even care, do you?"

I feel like throwing up. I can't answer her. I can't tell her I care. I can't lie and say I don't, either. It's easier to just… stay quiet. Besides, I don't think I could find the words even if I could bring myself to speak.

She slaps me across the face hard. "I confided in you!" she says in disbelief. "I trusted you to talk to him! I didn't think you'd go and do something like this!"

"Sorry," I murmur. My cheek hurts and I want to cry, but I won't. Not in front of her.

"Say _why_ you're sorry," she seethes. "I want to hear you say it!"

"Sorry for... for being a slut," I specify weakly, saying the last word in a meek whisper. I feel like I'm burning.

She laughs callously, shaking her head in disgust before looking at Kyle. "And you…" he points, jabbing him in the chest. "It goes without saying… but we're over!" She spins around on her feel before leaving, shrieking cuss words the entire time. After mere seconds, we hear the front door slam.

"How the fuck did she get in?" I whisper the question. My voice is a croak and I'm unable to look Kyle in the face. My cheeks are probably as pink as grapefruits.

"You must not have locked the door," he says.

I am shaking even harder by now. I should have shouted at her. I wish I did, but I couldn't. I honestly have no dignity left. I just let her say those things.

I gather my clothes up off the floor and hurry to get dressed, running out the door without another word. I run straight home and move inside, kicking off my sneakers. I let out a string of deep, heaving breaths and wring my fingers through my hair.

"Turd," Shelly greets me from the living room. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," I whisper. The words come out in a faint croak.

"Did someone hit you?" she asks. "Your cheek is red."

"No," I mumble.

"Liar," she calls me out, "but whatever, I won't pry."

I go upstairs and into my room and begin hyperventilating. I feel dizzy and nauseous and light-headed. I wish my mom was here. She always makes everything better… and maybe it's stupid for an eighteen year old to still be so dependent on his mother, but I don't care.

I sit at the edge of my bed, bringing a hand over my face. It hurts to breathe. My chest is aching and there's a lump in my throat. "Fuck," I whisper to myself. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…" I emit a frustrated shriek before starting to bawl.

It takes Shelly about two seconds to come upstairs and once again ask me what's wrong. I can't even answer her. There's no way in hell I can get the words out. I don't handle things well and she knows it. She already knows I'm depressed and basically mental. She knows about my long history with addiction and maybe this is why she doesn't beat on me much anymore.

Shelly has it together. She dates Kevin McCormick. Their relationship is surprisingly stable. It makes me fucking jealous of her. She skipped out on university, but she works in a call center (the same one as Kenny) and she is up for a promotion at the end of the month. Compared to her, I look like an even bigger mess than I am.

She sits down next to me and puts an arm around me, patting my shoulder. "Things always work out in the end, you know," she says. "Sure, something worse might happen first… but things can't stay bad forever. Not unless you let them."

And maybe that's my biggest problem. I'm so permissive.

* * *

><p>I skip school the following Monday, unable to bring myself to leave my bed. Wendy calls me and I try to tell her I'm fine, but by now she knows better. I have a feeling most of the student body knows better. Rebecca did say she'd tell everyone, after all.<p>

So, that's fucking great. Awesome. Now I'm Stanley Marsh: the school slut.

Late in the evening, she shows up with Cartman, much to my dismay. "We'll try to do damage control," she says.

"_We_?" I repeat in question, eying Cartman.

Wendy only nods. "Eric will help. No one wants to see you suffer, Stan. Especially not your friends. Rebecca is vindictive and spiteful when things don't go her way. She shouldn't be putting _all_ the blame on you."

"I should have said no," I mumble.

"But you didn't," Cartman cuts in, "and now you have to deal with the fallout because she's a psycho bitch. But you guys already knew that. She's always been fuckin' nuts. I don't know why the hell Jewboy wanted to date her in the first place. She's nuttier than he is."

"Sh," Wendy hushes him sharply. "Look, Stan," she says, rubbing my shoulders. "It doesn't matter what a bunch of random, mean kids think about you. Don't let it get you down."

"What are they saying?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "Don't worry about it."

"I _need_ to know, Wendy," I say pleadingly. "I need to know what I'll be hearing when I return." I want to prepare myself emotionally for the shitstorm I'll likely have to face.

"Just… just don't listen to the things they say," Wendy tells me.

I only sigh. I can tell she doesn't want to repeat any of it. So, I'll drop it for now. I guess I'll prepare for the worst and when tomorrow comes, I'll try to remain hardened. I'll probably fall apart quickly, though. I'm overly sensitive. I can't handle much of anything. I'm a weak piece of shit and I let people walk all over me. I welcome what I think I deserve. Shit, shit and more shit.

I run my hands through my hair and sigh. "Fine," I tell her just for the sake of it. "I'll try."

But we all know I'm only setting myself up for failure.

* * *

><p>When Tuesday arrives, I choose to walk to school instead of taking the bus. As soon as I step in, Rebecca's brother shoves me into a locker before walking off without a word. Damn it. If I defend myself, will I be defending what I did? Probably. I need to just ride it out and accept the punishment I know I deserve.<p>

I skip first period and loiter behind the school, sitting on the cement stairwell. I'm alone for a few minutes until I hear the door open. I turn around, somewhat nervous but I only see Craig. I doubt he'll give me any shit.

"Hey," he murmurs, sitting on the stairs next to me. He's wearing a pair of dark, tinted sunglasses. I'm assuming it's something to do with his epilepsy, but I won't pry. It's not really my business.

"Hey," I murmur back. It's quiet again. After a pause, I ask, "What did Rebecca say about me? And don't sugar-coat it."

"Uh," Craig pauses. "She said she walked in and saw you naked, on your knees with Kyle's dick in your mouth. She said it with a lot of added cuss words. She said you have a tiny penis, which Kyle must have mistaken for a vagina. It was just a lot of crude talk about your body."

I pale, feeling incredibly self-conscious and disgusted with myself. "What is everyone else saying about me? Wendy keeps glossing over it and Kyle hasn't said a word to me since we got caught."

He shrugs his shoulders. "Mostly just more crude stuff. Guys joking around, wondering if you give good head and saying they're gonna stuff their dicks in your mouth to find out. I doubt they'd try. It's mostly just talk."

"Oh," I whisper weakly. Still, it doesn't make me feel any better.

"I didn't know you were with Kyle," Craig adds, "but I'm not surprised."

"I'm not," I admit. "I'm not with Kyle. I'm not with anyone." I decide to change the subject away from myself after that. "Are _you_ with anyone?"

"No," he says.

"Then why not give Kenny a chance?" I wonder.

"I'm thinking about it," he relents. "I'm just wary when it comes to dating. Guys can be real shit."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Trust me, I know."

Craig nods before smiling faintly. "When I was fourteen, I had my first boyfriend. He was a couple years older than us, but I didn't think much of it. I let him fuck me after a week of dating. I told him I was a virgin even though I wasn't. For some reason, he made it seem important that I was. I was stupid. I should have taken that as a warning sign and realized he was trash, but I didn't. I lied and we had sex and he dumped me the next day, 'cause in the end that's all he wanted. Turns out, he had some sort of bet going on with his friends about who could fuck the most virgins. Boys were worth more because not many straight guys want to fuck another guy. Anyway, after that there were a lot of older kids coming up to me and saying crude shit. It was really rough. If I met someone like him now, I'd run the other way. People who put that kind of importance in the virginity of their partner… They're not worth it."

I'm somewhat surprised he's speaking to me so willfully, especially about something personal… something he finds humiliating.

"Shit," I whisper. "I'm sorry."

He shrugs his shoulders lightly. "It's okay. It was a while ago."

"Didn't you want revenge?" I wonder. "Unlike me, you did nothing wrong."

"Yeah," he admits. "Jason beat the guy up for me. Jason is the one person who is always there for me apart from my mom and dad. Well, Clyde and Token, too, but they're usually busy with their own lives and, of course, their girlfriends." He wrinkles his nose and adds, "I'm not a crier when it comes to most things, but I was so disgusted I couldn't help it. I spilled it to Jason and he made things okay. He might not be much to look at, but he's tall and he's strong and he has big arms and as dickish as he sounds, he's always been good to me."

"I guess that's why you are so fond of him," I murmur.

"The point it… I got humiliated and then I moved on," he says. "Well, perhaps not fully… but I've started to regain trust in people."

Maybe, in his own way, he's trying to make me feel better. Craig's voice is deep and soothing and it's kind of nice to listen to him talk because I know he's hardly one for words.

"You should go out with Kenny," I tell him, forcing a smile. "He's a sweet guy when you get to really know him. He'll drop the alpha-boy act and he'll be genuine. He'll make you feel special. He'll be real... and to get to know the real Kenny McCormick... Well, it's something significant. In that way, he's kind of like you. He doesn't let just anyone in."

Craig looks thoughtful, but he only shrugs in response. "We'll see," he murmurs. "We've been getting along a bit more."

"I've noticed," I say. "What changed?"

"I guess I just took to heart what you have been telling me," he admits. "Maybe I'll continue to do so."

I smile faintly before changing the subject. "How did you realize that you liked guys?"

"Uh," he muses. "I guess I always knew. I was never really in the closet. When I was really little I would talk about boys I liked with my mom and dad. It wasn't weird or awkward. My parents are feminists, really into social justice… That's how they raised me. So, naturally, I had an easy time of things. I'm really lucky."

I nod, trying not to compare my own parents to Craig's. Sure, my mom is very pro-women and pro-LGBT… but my dad could care less. Sometimes I think the bad always has a way of overpowering the good. Negative emotions are like that, too.

My mom said she knew. My dad said he did, too, but at the same time he was hoping otherwise. Asshole. Fucking asshole.

"I had to do the gay test with Kyle," I say with a bitter laugh.

"Yeah, I heard," Craig admits.

"Everyone heard," I snort, "but… I knew before then. I guess that just made things easier for me. When I watched porn, I'd stare at the guys more than the girls and I kind of realized that wasn't… Well, it probably wasn't that most guys my age were doing."

Craig smiles a small smile. "True."

And, sure, I still wish I was straight but in the end I'm not and I have to make do with who I am.

* * *

><p>Wendy and Cartman spend most of the day by my side, acting as my bodyguards. I guess they're both stronger than me. Cartman may be fat as a whale, but he's got strength. Wendy, on the other hand, has always been scrappy and everyone knows it. She's even beat the shit out of Cartman on a few occasions when we were kids. Knowing that makes it even weirder that they ended up dating.<p>

Speaking of fights, Kyle gets into a one near the bus stop after school with another senior. I always feel bad about watching fights. I feel like I'm invading not only something personal, but in a way intimate. It's violent skin on skin. Perhaps it's not much different than sex. It's another kind of fast-paced anatomical collision.

The principal breaks it up, sending everyone on their way. No one cares about kids fighting. No one cares about much of anything in this buttcrack of a town.

I part ways with Wendy and Cartman in favor of walking home with Kyle. There's a bruise on the side of his face. I don't know if it's because of his mom or if it's because he was fighting. I don't want to ask him. I know how much he hates talking about the fact that he's mom literally hits him.

"Why were you fighting?" I ask him.

"The asshole was talking shit," he mutters.

"About you?" I ask.

"No, about _you_," he says.

"Oh," I mumble. I don't make him extrapolate. I have a vivid idea what must have been said. It was probably something about my shiny, new reputation.

He pauses on the side of the road, staring at me. "I'm really sorry, Stan," he says and it sounds so fucking genuine. I don't know whether or not to believe him. I want to. I want to so fucking desperately.

"It's okay, Kyle," I murmur.

He lets out a sigh and wraps his arms around me, patting my back. "She should've blamed me as much as she blamed you."

I can almost understand why she didn't, but I won't say that.

"Get a room," Terrence calls to us as he walks past us with Bill and Fosse.

"Ignore him," Kyle says to me, not letting go. I grab the material of his sweatshirt and breathe him in. He smells nice, the way he usually smells. Kind of like mint and a mix of something sweet. "Don't let anyone bad mouth you," he tells me.

"I'll try," I murmur. "It's just… It's hard to stick up for myself.

He pulls away, placing his hands on my shoulders and staring at me. "Why?" he asks.

"Because I have no self-esteem?" It's a half-question. Kind of a guess.

"But why?" he pries further.

"Because my dad hates me?" It's another guess. It's what Wendy seems to believe. She's probably right. I don't want to think about it.

Kyle frowns, giving a long nod.

"Daddy issues…" I add bitterly.

Kyle wrinkles his nose. "Don't say it like that. You're blaming yourself. You didn't do anything wrong. Who the hell knows why your dad is such an oblivious alcoholic dick? Don't trivialize your abuse."

"I suppose so," I relent. He always reminds me of Wendy when he starts on like that. I think putting the focus on my family situation allows him an escape from his own. I'll admit that his is far worse than mine, but even if I said that out loud I already know how he'd respond. He'd tell me to stop comparing and that there is no comparison. Everyone's experiences are different and just because someone has an experience that differs, it doesn't mean I can't be sad about my own. Blah, blah, blah.

"Come on," he says, tossing an arm around me and steering us down the street.

"Where to?" I ask.

"My house," he decides. "I can help you with homework or something."

"Are your parents home yet? I question, trying not to stare at the bruise.

"Yeah, they got home early Monday," he says distantly.

"Oh," I respond.

I want to ask Kyle why he blames himself for Ike's death. I know it probably wasn't his fault. Ike drowned. It was an accident. But every time someone brings Ike up, Kyle goes catatonic. It's something he honestly cannot handle thinking about. He loses his shit and I still don't fucking understand why.

* * *

><p>At Kyle's house, we sit in the living room and Kyle helps me with math. No sex. He doesn't even try to get me into the bedroom. For that, I'm almost relieved. This feels pleasantly normal, like things used to be before we started to fuck. He's being really sweet.<p>

After an hour, his mother comes downstairs and looks at us. "Kyle," she says her son's name. "Don't you think you should be concentrating on your own studies instead of Stan's? You're failing two classes. How will you pass your exams?"

That shocks me. I simply stare at Kyle, who looks embarrassed and scared and angry at the same time.

"I don't care about school," he says in a murmur. "I'm going to get a job and leave as soon as I can."

That shocks me, too. Since when does Kyle not care about school? Since when does he not want to attend university? He's changed so much since Ike died, it's like he's a completely different person on most days.

Sheila stares at Kyle, hardened expression in place. "Stanley," she says, not bothering to look at me. "I think you should go home."

I hesitate, glancing at Kyle. "Go, Stan," he murmurs. "It's okay."

I stare at him piteously before reluctantly doing as he asks. I gather my things and leave without another word.

Kyle could easily block the hits Sheila delivers, but he never does. I guess I can't really talk, since I'm always accepting of abuse, too.

* * *

><p>As I'm walking home, I get jumped by some guys that usually hang around Rebecca. I notice one of them as the guy Kyle was fighting with.<p>

They hold me down and I start shrieking as loud as I can, screaming for them to stop when their hands start groping at my clothes. My shirt is pulled up, revealing my stomach. I shiver as my skin is forced to greet the cold, crisp air.

I feel small. Too small to get away. Too weak to put up a fight.

The name of the game changes when one of them pulls out a knife. I start hyperventilating as it presses into the skin near my navel. It slides deeper and deeper until it starts drawing blood and, still, it goes deeper. I let out a string of cough-like sobs and pained moans, lying limp. It feels like my guts are going to pour right out and I feel dizzy.

_It hurts._

_It hurts…_

_It fucking hurts…_


	6. The way we feel

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Let the downward spiral begin.**

**Also, I want to address something. I don't ask for criticism, as I state on my profile. Getting certain types of criticism for certain topics sends me into episodic depersonalization and I can't write for weeks. This story is more personal than other stories in terms of certain characterizations I've written so I'm going to be a big whiny baby and ask that you guys don't give me any crit because I'm in a very bad place mentally right now.**

**And naturally since this is South Park and it South Park things aren't as they're supposed to be... things are a little more lax and dramatic in terms of laws and other things like that. People get away with more. Killing happens in the show all the time. Even some of the parents and kids are murderers :o! If anyone is getting nervous about how the story will end, don't hesitate to shoot me a message 'cause I don't want anyone getting too anxious. I can give you spoilers :b.**

**Lastly, thanks for everyone who has been messaging me lately to chat, it's really nice to hear from you c: I might end up taking a hiatus after finishing this story so if any of you want to add me on social media just ask! **

* * *

><p>I ended up passing out from the pain and a neighbour found me. I woke up in a hospital bed and my mom was crying. It took me a moment to remember what happened, but then I started crying, too. Each sob made my stomach sting even worse, but I couldn't stop. I thought I got fucking stabbed, but I didn't. The doctors filled in the blanks for me. I wish they didn't. I could have used a few more minutes of ignorant bliss.<p>

The asshole boys carved letters into my gut as punishment and a permanent reminder of who I am.

_Slut._

That's what they carved into my skin. I guess this is my new identity. They cut me deep enough that flaps of skin were hanging loose. So, I had to get stitched back up.

Earlier, the cops came and asked me questions. It was humiliating. They probably all agree that I had it coming for stealing some nice girl's boyfriend. Ha.

The boys who did it got expelled, but that's it. They're still allowed to carry on with their lives even though they assaulted me. They're eighteen. They aren't children. They should get fucking arrested, for fuck's sake, but no one seems to care that some little fag got hurt. My mom gave the police department an earful, but they still didn't seem to care. Such is life. No "proof" and no justice. Sergeant Harrison Yates and officers like Barbrady don't exactly provide the most competent law enforcement.

I know I fucked up, but I don't think I deserved this. This won't go away. It'll scar and, no matter who I fuck, they'll see it and they'll ask questions. They'll want to know the story behind it.

"_Slut? What's that all about?" _people will ask.

I'll just laugh and say, _"Oh, y'know, it's just who I am." _

It's noon. I've been awake for a few hours and all I want is to leave, but everyone is being so cautious. Plus, my wound is infected and I have a high fever. The knife they used was probably crusty and dull.

My mom is pacing now with the tip of her thumb in her mouth. She keeps starting to ask questions, but then she cuts herself off and stays quiet. It's like she's not sure what to say or maybe she just doesn't know how to say it.

I'm lying here, staring up at the ceiling and hoping she doesn't start asking shit I don't want to answer. "Mom," I sigh. "Stop pacing. You're making me dizzy."

She pauses and stares at me. "How long has this been going on?" she asks weakly.

"Mom…" I try to get her to stop. "Don't…"

"Have they hurt you in any other ways?"

_Other_ ways.

"No," I mumble, closing my eyes. "None of them tried to _fuck_ me if that's what you mean. They just taunted me and groped me a bit to get me scared and then they pulled out the knife."

"I hate this town," she whispers, rubbing her temples.

"I hate America," I respond. "I hate the whole world."

I wish they shoved a cactus up my ass instead. At least that wouldn't have scarred my outsides.

* * *

><p>Cartman and Wendy are the first to come visit me. I tell them I got stabbed and my mom doesn't call me out on fibbing. Well, it's not that much of a lie.<p>

Wendy shakes her head in disbelief. "Why would they do that? It's so violent and cruel… It's so much harsher than any schoolyard vengeance I've seen before, that's for sure."

"Like you said a while ago," Cartman starts, "Rebecca is spiteful and fucking evil."

"It's not normal, though," Wendy murmurs.

"Nothing that happens around here is normal," Cartman snorts.

My mom sits in the corner of the room, pretending not to listen but I know she is. She'll have questions when everyone is gone.

"Guys," I sigh. "Just drop it."

"This is a major case of slut-shaming," Wendy says quietly.

"Yeah, well, no one cares about sluts," I say bitterly. "Especially if the sluts are also homos."

"Stan, don't berate yourself," Wendy chastises. "I don't care what the hell you and Kyle were doing together. You still didn't deserve to get _stabbed_."

"What are people at school saying about me now?" I ask, rubbing my forehead. I feel a headache coming on.

"Most people feel pretty bad…" Wendy says, "but then Rebecca and her friends are kind of laughing it off."

"Naturally," I mutter. God, kids can be so vile. People in general just suck.

My mom can probably sense that I'm not up for visits, because she stands up and politely says, "Thanks for visiting Stanley, but he needs to get some rest. He still has a bit of a fever."

"Of course," Wendy says, smiling. "Feel better, Stan," she tells me, squeezing my shoulder lightly.

"Thanks," I mumble.

"Later, homo," Cartman adds before trailing after her.

When they leave, I can tell my mom wants to start asking questions. "I'm really tired," I tell her. "You don't have to stick around. I'm fine here. I'll just… sleep."

"All right," she relents. "I'll go run a few errands and be back with your sister and father later."

"I don't want dad to come," I whisper.

"All right," she says again. "Just me and Shelly."

"Tell them I need more painkillers on your way out," I add.

* * *

><p>I end up falling asleep shortly after getting doped up. When I wake up, it's no longer light outside. My mom is back, though. Shelly is sitting with her.<p>

"Turd's awake," she says.

"Stanley," Mom smiles at me. "Do you want me to get you anything? Water? Food?"

"I could use a drink," I say, gingerly sitting up. I wince and give up halfway, slumping back.

"Who did it?" Shelly asks.

"Some guys," I mumble vaguely.

"Why?" she bites out. "Why would a bunch of random guys do that to you? Homophobia?"

I guess Mom told her what got sliced into my gut. God damn it. As if my sister didn't pity me enough already.

"I stole some girl's boyfriend," I mumble, though it's half a lie. "She found out and organized it."

Shelly remains blank faced. For a while, she says nothing. She just stares at the floor. "Why?" she finally asks.

"Because I'm a slut."

Shelly clicks her tongue. "Tsk, don't say shit like that, you stupid turd. There's nothing worse than people who constantly shut themselves down. It's annoying."

I know that, but I can't help it. I don't do it to get pity, I swear. It's just something I do without thinking. It's like second nature, as sad as it sounds.

"Mom brought your prescription," Shelly adds. "You know, you should probably start taking it again. She doesn't know you stopped, but I know. I know you've been flushing them. That's fucking stupid. You'll probably feel better when you start taking them again."

I grunt in response. I hate being like this. I hate depending on the pills. I thought I could try being normal. I felt okay for a day, and then everything came crashing down. I tried not to think about it, but that just made it all worse. Shelly is right. I guess I was being stupid. Sickness doesn't just go away.

* * *

><p>People keep coming all throughout the day and I don't end up getting much sleep. Kenny comes with Craig. They seem to be getting along. Bebe, Clyde, Toke and Nichole show up soon after and eventually I've got a crowd of people in my room. I try to be polite and nice but I'm so out of it I just want everyone to shut up and leave. My mom kicks them out after an hour, not wanting me to get overwhelmed.<p>

When night approaches, Kyle comes to see me. He immediately takes the blame for what happened and no matter how many times I try to convince him otherwise, he doesn't listen. But, hey, maybe it is his fault. Then again, maybe it's just as much my fault. We're both fucking stupid.

"This is my fault," he says again and again.

"No, it's not," I say with a sigh. I don't want to have to reassure him. I feel like shit and I just don't have the energy.

Kyle starts crying and my mom puts an arm around him before escorting him out. They're gone for a while and when she returns, she returns alone. "Kyle went home," she says.

"That's fine," I whisper. "I'll see him later."

"I tried talking to him but he was out of it," she continues. "It was very unlike him… but I suppose he hasn't been around as much as he used to be. The two of you usually go off on your own when you are with one another. I haven't spoken to him in a long time. He told me to tell you he's sorry… though I'm not sure what for."

"He's changed a lot since we were kids, Mom," I mumble. Ha, that barely begins to describe it.

"That boy is a mess," my mom adds.

"I know," I agree begrudgingly.

"Why did he blame himself?"

"Dunno," I mumble.

She lets out a quiet breath. "Is there anything you want to tell me, Stan?" she asks.

I close my eyes and let out a shuddery breath. I don't want to see the look on her face when I tell her what I've been doing. "We're fucking," I confess. "We've been fucking for the past year." I feel like that is all me and Kyle do these days. We fuck and I always feel like shit when it's over. From start to finish, I tell my mom everything. I tell her how it started. I tell her about Kyle's drinking. I tell her about Kyle's mood swings and strange behaviour. I tell her that he's either friendly and fun or spiteful and upset. I tell her I never have enough self-esteem to say no. I tell her about Rebecca. I tell her about the taunts from other kids. I tell her about last night. I top it all off by telling her how much I fucking hate myself. The entire time I'm sobbing and Shelly is here listening to it all and I don't even have it in me to be humiliated. I should be, though. Shouldn't I?

The entire time, Mom listens with this look of immense pity on her face, like she can't believe what her once proud son has been reduced to. I want to laugh and cry at the same time. I've never been proud. It was all just an act to get people to fuck off once I was diagnosed with childhood depression. I think my parents got scared I was going to off myself. I wouldn't. I don't want to die. I want to live. I just get stuck in ruts and forget it sometimes.

"Stanley," she whispers weakly. "I can take you to a hospital… an institution. We can get you help."

"No," I murmur.

"Then…" she pauses. "Then how about you start seeing your therapist again?"

"No," I repeat myself.

"Are you still taking your prescription?"

"No," I admit. "I just flush them down the toilet."

"Why?" she asks with a sigh.

"I hate the fact that I need to take those stupid pills," I bite out.

"Sweetie, you can't just stop taking your medication, especially not so suddenly. You'll only feel worse."

"I _know_ that!" I say sharply. I bring an arm over my eyes and sniffle. "Ugh," I moan, not wanting to start crying but it's too late. God, I must be such a disappointment. It's no wonder my dad thinks I'm shit.

* * *

><p>I'm allowed to leave in time for exams and as soon as I'm home, my dad starts complaining about the hospital bill. It makes me feel like shit. Like… Sorry I basically got <em>stabbed<em>. Sorry your son is a dirty piece of trash. Sorry, sorry, sorry.

My stitches hurt, but the wound is no longer infected. It's healing. When the bandages got changed for the first time, I wanted to start screaming when I saw the damage. The nurse told me to look away, but I just snapped at her. How the hell would that do any good? I can't just ignore it. I can't just ignore something that is now a part of my body. I can't just ignore something I'll be forced to see all the fucking time – every time I take off my clothes and every time I'm with a guy.

On the bright side, today is the last day of exams. As soon as I walk into the school, I see Rebecca. There's a smile on her face as she takes in my pathetic appearance. "Wow, Stan," she cackles. "You look so different with clothes on."

"Fuck off, Rebecca," I retort without even thinking.

"I'm gonna rape your ass with a pole, skank!" she shrieks at me. She really is as mental as Cartman says she is. Maybe we all are.

I force myself to ignore her. I find my seat and soon the exams start. Kyle doesn't end up coming. I half expected it. I guess he won't be graduating this year.

I didn't study at all, but I'm confident I'll at least pass. That's all I want. I won't be going to university. I won't be leaving home. I won't be doing anything exciting with my life. When I'm less stressed out, I'll get a job. I'll get a mundane boring job. Maybe I'll work at the book store. Maybe I'll work at the corner store. Maybe I'll work at the pet store. Maybe I'll work at a restaurant. I don't know. I don't care as long as it's boring. Ha, I sound like Craig Tucker now.

The school board said I could do my exams at a later date, but I want to get them over with now. I want it over with so I can move on with my life.

So, I rush things and bullshit the answers I don't know. I write fast and messily. I don't care. When I'm finished, I leave the school. It's warmer outside.

Graduation is at the end of the month. I won't be going. I know my mom wants me to, but I literally can't. I've grown so fucking nervous and anxious lately, I wouldn't be able to handle walking across the stage and knowing I'm being stared at by so many people. I won't go to prom either. I hate that kind of shit. Plus, I have no one to go with so it kind of defeats the purpose of it. Everyone else will be coupled up. I'll just end up being a wallflower.

I shove my hands in my pocket and leave the school grounds, making my way onto the main road. It doesn't take me long to arrive at Kyle's place. I let myself in and go straight to his room, hoping that's where he'll be. I don't like when he plays hide and seek.

Fortunately, I see him sitting on his bed, wrapped in his duvet. His shoulders are bare. It doesn't look like he's wearing any clothes. I don't know why.

"Kyle," I say his name.

"Staann…" he responds in a long, slow slur.

"Are you drunk?" I ask him.

"Mm…" he mumbles, eyebrows drawn together. "Things are simpler when you're disoriented. Then you don't have to think. You don't have to cope. You don't have to remember."

"What do you mean?" I question. I don't understand what he's going on about. There's something not quite right about this scenario. It's written on his face and it's written on the way he's sitting. He's hiding something; I'm just not sure what. "Is this about Ike?"

"Sometimes… it's like I step out of my body," he says hazily, dismissing my questions. "It's like I'm staring at myself from across the room. I see this guy… He has red hair. He's tall. He's pale. He has green eyes and thick eyebrows. He has a big nose. He's not awful looking… but he's not me. It's like… I don't know who he is. Who is that guy I'm staring at? I don't know. It's like a mirror but it's not because I don't know who it is I'm staring at. I don't know myself." He pauses, glancing at me. "Who am I, Stan? What am I?"

"Kyle, what the _fuck_?" I whisper in a deadpan. He's scaring the hell out of me right now. I have goose bumps on my arms and I just want him to stop and be normal. I take a step back, not wanting to be in the same room as him.

"Stop," he murmurs, staring down at the sheets on his bed. "Stop doing that…" he whispers. "I'm not trying to scare you, so stop being scared!" he pleads loudly, raising his head and staring at me accusingly.

I'm taken aback. "What do you want from me, Kyle?" I ask hoarsely.

"This is blood, right?" he wonders offhandedly, pushing the blankets away and holding out his wrists. There is a plethora of cuts, some shallow and some deep. The blood is trailing down his arms, onto his bare legs and staining his yellow bed sheets. "This blood is mine?"

"Kyle…!" I gasp, nearly choking on my own breath. "God, what did you do?" I almost shout. I move close, grabbing his wrists. "Oh, fuck…"

"Don't be mad," he pleads softly.

I hold his arms gently and force him to stand and follow me to the bathroom. He sits on the toilet seat lid and I place a towel on his lap, partly to cover himself and partly to help with all the blood. With shaky hands, I dig out the first aid kit and begin cleaning his cuts.

"Why'd you do this?" I whisper.

"Because I _deserved_ it!" he retorts sharply and I don't need to ask him to know that he's talking about my trip to the hospital.

"No, you didn't," I murmur. "You're lucky you don't need stitches…" I add. "The bleeding all stopped." He only grunts in response, staring off into empty space. I take a roll of gauze and wrap his wrists. "Make sure you change the bandages tomorrow," I tell him. I take the towel, running it under the sink taps and then washing the caked blood off his legs.

Kyle looks like he lost weight. Less muscle, more bones.

He stands up and walks back to his room in a daze. I follow and hand him a pair of sweatpants to put on, then a long-sleeved shirt. Once modest, he sits on his bed.

"Kyle, what the fucking hell is wrong with you?" I ask, standing in front of him.

"Dunno," he admits.

"When did this all start?"

"Dunno," he repeats.

"Was it Ike?"

"Dunno," he says for a third time. "Sometimes I think it was, but no… I've been feeling off for years."

"Talk to me," I whisper, sitting with him. "Please…"

Kyle takes out a cigarette, lighting it. His eyes are bloodshot by now. "I was an idiot," he whispers, taking a drag. "We cut through the pond to get home. I told Ike to hurry. He hesitated. He said it didn't look safe. I went first to show him it was fine… but when I was on the other side waiting for him, I guess he hit a soft patch. He went right through…" Kyle pauses, closing his eyes, which begin to leak. I watch fresh tears swim down his face. Apart from this, he looks calm. Miserable, but calm. "He was screaming for me. I tried to help him… but then he went under. I kept trying but minutes past and I am smart enough to know optimism wasn't going to do me any good. So don't bother telling me it's not my fault because it is. I'm the one who urged him to cross the lake. I'm the reason he fell through. I called the cops and I ran. I ran to you. I couldn't fucking be there when they pulled his body out… I didn't want to see."

"I'm sorry," I say quietly, since it's really all I can offer at this point. It was an accident. The entire thing was an unfortunate accident... but I see now why he holds the blame.

Kyle just shakes his head, wrapping his arms around himself tightly. "When my mom first slapped me, I was stunned. I mean, she slapped the shit out of me and told me it was my fault. She kept smacking me and I was on the floor crying like a baby. I just took it… because, I mean, I could have easily overpowered her and stood up for myself but I didn't. I knew I deserved it. My dad eventually came in and stopped her, but the damage was done. That was the first time but it wasn't the last. She can't even fucking look at me now."

"I know," I whisper.

"I get jealous," Kyle says with a bitter laugh. "I get jealous when I see you and Shelly bickering. I get jealous when I see Kenny walking down the street with Karen and Kevin, even though their relationship is kind of strained. I just get fucking jealous… because I used to have that. I used to have all that and now I don't because he's dead… and I feel dead, too." He lets out a sharp breath. "I feel like I'm dissolving."

"W-what can I do to help?" I ask, stuttering the question.

"Come here," he whispers. "Just, like… Just hold me."

So I do. I hold him tight, feeling like I'm trying to hold him together. Maybe that's what it's all about – Kyle wants me to hold him together. Unfortunately, it's not something I can do.

* * *

><p>The following day, Kenny shows at my house with a big grin on his face. "Guess what?" he asks.<p>

"Craig let you take him out on a date?" I assume automatically, letting him in.

He pouts at the fact that I guessed so easily. "How did you know?"

"It was an obvious guess," I snort. "So, when did this happen?"

"A little over a week ago," he says with a grin. "I was going to tell you, but you seemed preoccupied and I felt bad giving you good news about my life when you were lying in the hospital with a stab wound."

I snort. "It's fine. Some good news probably would have made me feel better."

He smiles sympathetically. "Sorry, dude."

I just shrug. "We all have some shit. It's okay."

We go up into my room and settle on my bed. He's probably dying to tell me all about what's been going on in his life. Kenny likes to talk, but he doesn't have very many people he trusts enough to talk to. I guess we're all like that. I feel like everything got so strained after Ike died. Kyle is never emotionally available. He's always emotionally preoccupied.

"It was scary," Kenny murmurs out of the blue. "I've been spending nights at his house and my second night there, he had a seizure and bit the tip of his tongue. Man, I had no idea what to do. We were just sitting on his bed one second and the next… I just started screaming for his parents. It was probably stupid of me to start freaking out like that, but it really caught me off guard. Apparently there are lots of things that trigger seizures for him. Even stuff like the way light shines through his drapes."

"Jesus fucking Christ," I say with a wince.

Kenny nods, frown in place. "So, I've been trying to, like, learn about it and stuff. Plus, he's told me what I can do to help when it happens. I have to help bring him onto a flat surface, put something soft under his head, make sure there's nothing in the way so he doesn't hit himself. If it lasts more than five minutes, he says I have to call 911."

"That's scary…" I say softly.

Kenny nods his head again. "It's weird. I've never really thought about epilepsy much until seeing Craig have that seizure at school a few months back. I mean, everyone knows he's epileptic but… I dunno, no one really talks about it or knows how to handle it and help him."

"Yeah," I sympathize. It's not really something I can imagine. I've never had any sort of physical disorder before. I guess, in that sense, I'm lucky.

Kenny just shrugs. "He won't let me fuck him," he adds out of the blue, changing the subject.

I roll my eyes. "Well, you haven't been dating long," I point out. "A week isn't much."

"I know," he relents, "but fuck… I really wanna fuck him."

"Eloquent as ever." I roll my eyes. "Good things come to those who wait," I offer.

Kenny just shrugs yet again. "I dunno. I mean, we do stuff, he just hasn't let me stick my dick in him yet."

"What do you do if you don't have sex?" I pry.

"Suck each other off," he says with another shrug. "Sometimes we just jack off together or jack each other off. I have a double ended dildo… We used that a couple times."

"Hm," I muse. "Maybe he just wants to make sure it's real with you. Maybe he's worried you'll fuck him and chuck him."

Kenny softens. "I wouldn't… I mean, I like him. I know my reputation is pretty... _impressive_, but I really like him. I've never really been into anyone before. I just like sex… but this is new. He told me about his first boyfriend. He said he got used."

"He told me that, too," I say. "I was surprised he told me something so personal."

Kenny nods in agreement. "He seems to be more open these days…"

"Unlike the rest of us," I snort.

He smiles a small and sad smile. "Anyway, enough about me! What's going on with you and Kyle?"

"I don't mind if you talk about Craig," I say with a chuckle before admitting, "But about Kyle… I saw him yesterday. I went to see him after my exams. He was really out of it. Like… _really_ out of it. He kind of scared me."

Kenny winces. "He's not safe anywhere, especially not in his head. He can't be left alone."

"Don't remind me," I mumble.

"Nonetheless," Kenny adds, "it's not your responsibility."

"Mm…" I muse, letting out a whiny sigh. "I just don't want him to do anything bad. Christ, this is fucking depressing me even more than I already am."

"Sorry," Kenny sympathizes.

"Tell me more about you and Craig," I say, lying down against my pillow.

Kenny lies down next to me. "Fuck," he lets out a sigh. "I'm really happy, dude. It's weird. I've never really had a boyfriend or girlfriend before. I never really imagined I'd want to settle down with anyone. I never really imagined anyone would want to settle down with me, either. I think when I kept asking Craig out, part of me honestly thought he'd never reciprocate my feelings. I was just being an annoying chode. But now here we are. I mean, I don't know how long it'll last but I'll enjoy it how as much time as I can. He's so fucking fine and he's nice to be around. He's comforting and calm and I like listening to him talk. His voice is deep and soothing…"

"Sounds like you're in _looove_," I tease.

He nudges me, snickering. "Yeah, maybe I'm getting there."

"Have you told him about what happened… to you…?" I say vaguely and cautiously. I turn my head to glance at Kenny. He's staring up at the ceiling. He wrinkles his nose and lets out a long breath.

"Yeah…" he says with a frown. "We tried staying at my house a couple nights ago. My dad ended up having his friends over and I got really sad and really drunk. The guy that did it wasn't there 'cause my dad doesn't let him come 'round anymore… but still, I guess I got triggered. I pretty much spent the night crying on Craig's lap. Of course, he asked questions. So, I told him what I told you. He immediately called his dad, who came to pick us up. So, I've been at his house most nights since then. It's actually, like, really nice… His parents are nice. I think they like me. His sister seems to like me, too."

"Well… That's good," I tell him. "Isn't it?"

"Yeah," he agrees, "but I don't want to put them out. I know they don't mind it… but still. I guess I have a hard time accepting help from people."

"What did Craig tell them?" I pry.

"He told them someone _hurt_ me," Kenny murmurs. "It was vague, but I think they understood what that meant. I guess that's why they've been so gracious. I mean… most people wouldn't leave a kid to suffer in a house where something so fucking shitty happened." His tone gets angrier as he speaks.

"Yeah," I whisper when he's silent.

Kenny lets out a sharp sigh. "Fucking fuck," he mutters, putting a hand over his face. He lets out a string of breaths and I can tell he's trying to will away tears. "God damn it… I get so fucking disgusting with myself when I think about it…"

"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "You're allowed to be angry, Kenny. You're allowed to be sad. You're allowed to feel the way you feel and most of all you're allowed to express it."

"I know," he says wetly. He sits up and sighs with finality. "All right," he decides, reaching for a tissue. "I'm okay again."

"Ever think you'll go to therapy?" I ask him.

"Nah," he snorts, lying back down. "I could never afford it… and even if I could, I don't know if I would want it. I mean, I'm all right. I get really fucking sad and humiliated sometimes and angry, too… but I feel like that's normal. Plus, I have a good support system now. I've got you and Craig. Even his fuckin' mom told me if I ever needed an ear, she'd listen. It's easier to talk about now. I think getting it out the first time was the hardest part, but you helped me with that."

"I'll always be here to listen, too," I promise him. "I'm not going anywhere."

He glances at me and smiles. "I know."

Kenny is so strong, but of course I always knew that. I try to think about who my support system is. I've got Kenny. I've got Wendy. I've got my mom and I even have Shelly. Unfortunately I don't have the one person I do want: Kyle.

Kyle, Kyle, Kyle! He consumes all of my thoughts even when he shouldn't. I love him so much. Too much. It won't ever go away, I already know that. I'll love him 'til the day I die.

"What are you thinking about?" Kenny asks me. "I can practically feel your anxiety, dude."

"Sorry," I snort.

"Don't apologize," he says. "What's up? What's on your mind?"

"I'm just thinking about things I want but will never have," I mutter bitterly.

"Ah, yeah," Kenny sympathizes. "Kyle... I love the bastard, but he's got some stuff he needs to work through. Right now… he wouldn't make a good boyfriend even if he wanted to be yours. I'd tell you to move on, but I know it would be hard. You've loved him for a long time, right? Since you were both little kids. Love like that doesn't just disappear or fade. You'll probably always feel something for him and when you think it's finally gone, something will trigger an old memory of him – one you tried to keep packed in a hard to reach place in your mind. Then it all comes flooding back. You're in love again. Feelings suck."

"Yeah," I force a chuckle. "That's pretty much it."

"I hope something good happens soon," Kenny offers. It's an innocent sentiment.

"Me, too," I tell him.

We continue to chatter. He tells me more about what him and Craig get up to – he even gives me a few of the dirty details. After another hour, Kenny announces his departure and I walk him to the door.

"I fucking love you, man," he says, pulling me into his chest and slapping me on the back.

"I love you, too," I tell him before watching him go.

* * *

><p>Everyone is home for supper and my mom makes us sit at the table together. I fucking hate when she does that. I dig a half empty bottle of vodka out from under my bed and pour it in a glass before going downstairs. I sip casually, pretending its water. It tastes like turpentine, but I try not to cringe.<p>

When I join everyone at the table, my mom makes small talk and my dad chats about his work. He's still a geologist, though he's quit about fifty times in the past. He always ends up back in his office.

Shelly grabs it and takes a whiff. "Vodka?" she mouths, staring at me. There's a look of disbelief on her face, but my parents don't seem to notice. They're busy paying attention to each other. At least they're getting along.

I don't bother responding to her. I simply take the glass back and take a long sip. She won't say anything to my parents about it. Not unless it becomes a habit.

* * *

><p>Around 9PM, I decide to go see Kyle. There are some things I need to get off my chest… if I can. I always lack the courage to say the things I want to him. When I arrive at the Broflovski residence, Gerald opens the door.<p>

"Uh, hi," I greet tentatively. "Is Kyle home?"

He shakes his head. "He hasn't been here all day. He said he wanted to get some air a couple hours ago."

"Do you know where he might be?" I ask.

"Hm," Gerald pauses. "You can try the synagogue… and if you find him, could you please walk him home? It's getting late."

I offer a smile. "Sure, Gerald."

As I'm about to turn away, he stops me. "Stanley," he says my name. "Does Kyle seem a bit… off to you?"

"You should have him tested," I say quietly. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel guilty. I feel like I'm betraying Kyle. I know it's not something he'd want. I know it's not something he's ready for. He's eighteen. There's no way he'll say yes. There's no way he'll agree and there's no way his parents can force him unless he's proven to be a danger to himself or those around him.

With nothing more, I turn away and run back down the driveway before running down the street. Gerald is so much kinder than Sheila is these days.

Just like Gerald said, I find Kyle in the synagogue. He's the only person there and it's dark. He's sitting in the front pew. "Dude," I murmur, moving closer. "Kyle…?"

His eyes are closed. I don't know why he's here. Maybe he's seeking religious guidance. Maybe he's trying to talk to his God. I don't know. I stay quiet until he's finished whatever it is he's doing. Soon enough, his eyes open. "There's something wrong with me," he says. "I feel like everything I am… everything I was is disintegrating," he continues in a murmur. "All my relationships are disappearing. I feel empty all the time. It's hard to feel things, _good_ things. You make me feel things… but I'm always worried you'll leave me. That's why I'm keep you on a string… because I need you near me. If you're not… then maybe I'll stop feeling things completely. I don't know what to do with the way I feel… I feel sad and angry and anxious all the time… and then when I don't feel those things I don't feel much of anything." His voice is groggy and mechanical, like he's not even registering the things coming from his mouth.

I sit down next to him in the pew and place my clammy hands on my knees. "How long have you felt like this?"

"I can't even remember," he whispers. He stares off into space for many more long minutes before turning to me. "Don't leave," he pleads wetly.

"Okay," I say quietly.

"Promise me you won't leave me," he urges, sounding desperate.

"I promise," I say, feeling claustrophobic. He's suffocating me and, as always, I'm unable to tell him what I planned on telling him. "Come on," I say softly. "Let's go outside."

I offer him my hand, which he accepts, and the two of us leave the building.

"Your dad wants me to walk you home," I say.

He holds my hand tightly as we walk. "Oh," is all he responds with.

"He cares about you, y'know," I offer.

Kyle nods slowly. "I know he does. He always stops my mom when she hits me. He feels guilty, but he loves her. He loves us both and then he feels conflicted."

"I'm sorry," I sympathize.

Soon enough, we're back at the bottom of his driveway. Kyle lets go of my hand and stands in front of me, slowly leaning down and pressing his mouth against mine. I've missed this. I've missed it more than I want to admit. It's simple. Just lips and innocent touching.

When we part, he wraps his arms around me and keeps me close for many long minutes. From over his shoulder, I can see Gerald in the window watching us. It puts knots in my stomach, but there's no anger on his face. Just sympathy. Lots of it. Too much. Everyone is so sympathetic. Everyone throws pity in my direction and in Kyle's direction. I hate it. I fucking hate it, but I know they're right. This is bad.

"Goodnight," Kyle says moments later, releasing me.

"Goodnight," I echo.

I watch him walk up his driveway and enter his house. Only then do I begin to walk home. I take my time, kicking a pebble the entire way and trying not to think about anything in particular.

I return home a little past ten and hover on the porch step. I stare up at the sky and up at the moon, wasting more time because I know as soon as I'm inside my mom is going to ask questions. She'll want to know where I was. She'll want to know who I was with. She'll want to know why I was out so late. When she finds out, she'll tell me things I know and she'll tell me things I don't want to keep hearing.

With a sigh, I turn and open the door. There's no point in putting off the inevitable. As soon as I step inside, my mom is there. She doesn't look angry, but she does look like she is ready to drill me. "Where were you?" she starts off.

"With Kyle," I admit. She shifts in response, looking like she wants to ask me what we were doing but at the same time she's afraid to find out. "We weren't doing anything," I tell her before she can stutter out the words. "We were just… talking… He says there's something wrong with him."

"If he isn't ready to get help, there's nothing you can do," she says.

"I know," I murmur.

She emits a sigh. "Stanley, I think you and Kyle should spend some time apart from one another," she suggests with caution.

"Yeah," I agree miserably. "I know. I'm trying."

And it's true. I have been. I know it's for the best, but they're words I choke on. Love is a fucking sickness, I swear. It makes people like me weak, which sucks because I'm already weak enough as it is. I don't need anything making it worse.


	7. Downward spiral

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**thanks for understanding c: **

**also, i forgot to mention this! i got a second instagram account last week for more fandom-related business, so if you guys want you can go follow me for nerdy things and selfies! i'm _scarylolita_ there as well. also, let me know if you follow me so i can follow back! **

* * *

><p>Prom comes and goes and I sleep through graduation.<p>

High school is truly over and I've managed to pass all my courses, unlike Kyle. Poor fucker. I don't know how he'll manage to do much of anything without his high school degree. He'll probably end up working at Wal-Mart. Then again, I won't be doing anything much more than that either. So, I guess the joke is on me.

I don't know if I can even handle a job right now. I feel like I'd just get fired after a week if I didn't manage to botch the interview. I don't know when I'll try getting a job, but it's definitely not gonna be any time soon.

My stitches came out and I'm healing. The word on my stomach is so visible I want to fucking slice the entire chunk of skin off my abdomen just to make it go away. I've been wearing a bandage over it, but now I don't need to. It's there clear as day. No hiding. The mark itself is shameful, but the story that goes along with it is more shameful than I can say.

July is a blur. A very shitty blur. I still feel like shit all the time. Somehow, I feel like everything is worse. Everything is getting shittier.

August is approaching now. Kyle hasn't been having parties, though his parents have been absent as always. Instead of going out to seek a party, we decide to fuck. This will be the first time we've hooked up since Rebecca caught us.

"What about your wound?" Kyle asks.

"It's fine," I tell him. "Healing."

And that's all he needs to make the first move. As soon as my clothes are off, I turn around. I get on my hands and knees, letting him fuck me from behind. I don't want to look at him. I don't want him to look at me. Then again, maybe it doesn't matter what position we're in. He hardly notices a damn thing. Still, I won't take the risk.

I've missed this, sad as it sounds. I like the way his hands feel on my hips. I even like when it's rough. It usually _is_ rough, but right now it's not. He's being gentle with me, like he's worried he'll hurt me. It's comforting to know he still cares about me at least that much.

We finish in synchronicity, the way it'd happen in some stupid romance novella. For a minute, I just stay still with my cheek pressed against the mattress. What now?

"Stan?" Kyle says my name in a questioning tone, placing a palm on the small of my back.

"Hm?" I ask, getting up, cleaning off and grabbing my clothes. I face away from him and he senses it. When I pick up my things, he grabs them from me and tosses them across the room.

"Why won't you look at me?" he asks tersely.

I face the wall, feeling trapped. What the fuck do I tell him? There's nothing I can think of. There's no lie that would be convincing enough. He's gonna find out.

"Look at me!" he demands but I don't answer him. Instead, he comes up behind me and tries to force me to look at him. I struggle, but it's in vain. He's stronger than me. He's bigger than me and taller than me and broader than me. He turns me around with ease and stares at me. "What is it?" he asks in an uncharacteristically gentle tone of voice. I place a palm over the word, but Kyle notices and pries my hand away.

He frowns, kneeling down. He looks mortified. "What's this?" he whimpers.

"My _stab_ wound," I confess. No point in lying.

Kyle puts a hand over his mouth, eyebrows drawing together. I hear him intake sharply before letting out a sob. "Oh, God…" he cries weakly. "I'm sorry…"

"Hm," I mumble. "It doesn't matter." I try to play it off, but Kyle knows better than that.

"Don't pretend you don't care," he calls me out, sniffling wiping his nose on the back of his hand. He gets to his feet and stares at me, _really_ stares at me. It feels like he's looking through me – right inside of me and exploring my fucking soul. I glance away and stare at the floor.

"Don't tell anyone," I whisper. I want to keep it a secret for as long as I can. Forever, if possible.

"I won't," he promises. "You know I won't…" He pauses, sighing before wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into his chest. "I'm really sorry, Stan," he says sincerely, moving a hand through my hair. "I'll fucking kill the guy who did it."

"Don't bother," I murmur.

When we part, he sits on the bed and pulls me down so I'm sitting on his knee. "I'm gonna do something about it," he vows, wrapping his arms around me so I don't slip.

"Don't get yourself hurt," I warn him. "These guys are seriously dangerous if they're willing to cut me up over something this fucking stupid."

Yeah, I'll admit it. It was fucking stupid of me and Kyle, but it was even stupider of them. Rebecca and Kyle dated for, like, a week. Fuck her for doing this to me.

"Don't worry about me," Kyle says, pressing his cheek against my shoulder.

I can feel the jizz from inside of my ass leaking out onto Kyle's leg, but he doesn't seem to care. I shift somewhat uncomfortably, but he doesn't let go of me.

"Just relax," he murmurs.

I want to tell him to stop being so fucking nice to me. He's making it all harder. I'm supposed to be distancing myself from him but I can't. I crave him. Maybe Kyle is another one of my addictions… then again, maybe the only thing I'm addicted to is abuse.

* * *

><p>I've started wearing a bandage over the scar. It's probably my greatest humiliation and I don't want to continuously be forced to look at it.<p>

Right now, I'm in some abandoned church on the outskirts of town. Some guys are throwing a rave. It's not really my scene, but I want a distraction. It's ridiculously loud and the lights are crazy. There are a lot of stupid looking kids dressed in neon, but then there are kids like me who are dressed ordinarily.

I don't see anyone I know here. At least, not people I'm friends with. There are some North Park kids I recognize and some West and East Park kids. Mostly just douche bags.

I move into the basement and into the male washrooms, entering the first stall. I hear some voices enter – one that I recognize. After taking a piss, I open the door and see Terrance talking to some girl. She hands him a ten dollar bill and he hands her a tiny baggy with a single pill inside. Ecstasy. I guess Terrance deals all sorts of drugs.

I glance away and mind my own business, washing my hands.

"Oy, Marsh," he says, turning to me.

"What"? I ask him, patting my wet hands on my jeans.

Terrance opens another little baggy. This time, there is no pill inside. Instead, it's white powder and he's offering me some. "Want?"

"What the fuck is that?" I ask him.

"Party fuel," he says vaguely.

"As in…?" I urge him.

"Molly," he says. "MDMA. It's good shit. Pure. It'll make you feel nice. You'll have fun."

Ha. At least he's offering this time instead of forcing it down ignorant throats.

I remember the last time I did it, though it was against my will. I remember what it felt like. I guess it felt good. It made me friendlier. I forgot about Kyle when I wasn't being forced to look at him. After a moment of contemplation, I say, "Fuck it. All right."

Terrance smirks with satisfaction. He licks his finger before sticking it into the bag and then offering it to me. "Suck," he says.

So, I do. The shit tastes awful, but I keep my face calm. "Was that a freebie or am I gonna have to pay?" I ask him, hinting suggestively at something I know he'd be down for.

But why? Why am I doing this?

"I don't push," he responds. "I'm a nice guy." He leans against the counter and smiles. It's less than genuine.

I want to fucking laugh in his face and say there is no such thing as a nice guy, but I don't. Instead, I drop to my knees like an obedient animal. I unbutton his jeans and pull his pants and shorts below his hip bones.

"Jesus Christ," I say before I can stop myself.

He laughs and responds with, "I know."

I lean forward somewhat hesitantly before taking him in. I relax my throat, not wanting to choke. I let him thrust into my mouth and soon enough he shoots his load. When he pulls out, I feel semen drip out of my mouth. My jaw is cramped.

"That's a nice look for you," he says, chortling as he tucks himself back into his jeans. He moves into a stall and then hands me a handful of toilet paper. I stand up and wipe my mouth and chin off, trying to will away the salty, metallic taste. Disgusting. I stare at myself in the mirror for a moment, making sure I don't look off.

"Come back anytime," Terrance says with a wink.

I just walk away. I guess it's not so bad. At least he was nice this time.

Ha. I sucked dick in a church. What was once a holy place is now probably a place of pure sin.

* * *

><p>After the drugs set in I find some guys on the dancefloor and let them grind on me. I put an arm around the guy in front of me while the guy in back of me has his hands on my waist. I don't even know their fucking names and I don't want to find out either. I just want this to be a one night thing. I just want them to forget me when I leave this place and I'll do the same. No strings.<p>

They're good looking and it makes me feel like I'm worth something being near them. I close my eyes, trying to get lost in the music and in the feeling of these two guys touching me. For a while it's like this. Just hands and mouths.

Things get heated on the dance floor. When we make a move to find somewhere more private, I'm grabbed by someone. I spin around and see that it's Kenny. He looks pissed. Funny seeing him at a place like this.

"Stan!" he hisses my name, ushering me far away. "What. The. Fuck."

We go outside and it's quieter. The shitty dance music can still be heard loud and clear, but it's not as deafening.

"God damn it," Kenny mutters, staring into my eyes. "You're fucked, aren't you?"

"Yeah," I admit.

"Why?" he asks me sadly. "What the hell is so bad that you need to resort to heavy drugs?"

"Why not _EMBRACE_ who I am?" I ask loudly, throwing my hands in the air.

"Stop it, just stop!" Kenny spits, grabbing my shoulders. "This is _not_ who you are," he says sternly, removing his hands from my shoulders to cup my face. "The Stanley Marsh I know… The Stanley Marsh we _all_ know… This isn't him. Stan is sweet, shy, a little melancholy. He's modest and a bit of a cynic. He's not the kind of guy who will give himself away to anyone who wants a piece. That's me. Don't take lessons like that from a trashy guy like me, all right?"

I let out a laugh that sounds like a sob. "Nice pep talk. Can't you make someone feel good without making yourself feel like crap?"

He smiles bitterly. "That's not what I meant and you know it. I'm not the one with a problem here, Stan. You are."

I let out another string of angry laughs. "Oh, God! That's a good joke!"

Kenny falters. "All right," he pauses. "Yeah, I still have some shit to work through… but it's not about me right now. It's about you."

I roll my eyes at him. "Why are you even here?"

"Because I've been looking for you," he confesses. "As soon as I heard there was a rave I fuckin' knew you'd be here… Tsk. Still, I hoped otherwise."

"Whatever," I mutter. "What do you want?"

He smiles somewhat wearily. "Kyle beat the shit out of the guys who hurt you."

That surprises me. "He… What?" I ask Kenny to reiterate because I'm not quite sure I heard it right.

"Kyle beat the guys up, dude," he says again. "Like, majorly. It was impressive. He was on a rampage."

I let out a little laugh. "Wow."

Kenny nods for me to follow him. "Yeah, it was weird," he continues the story. "Kyle took all three of them on and managed to beat them all up. I mean, he took a few hits, too, but he walked away on two feet. He'll probably have some nice bruises by tomorrow."

"Well, shit," I say, overwhelmed.

"Yeah," Kenny chuckles. "It was intense. I doubt they'll bother you after that."

I just shrug, shoving my hands into my pockets. "So, where are you taking me exactly?"

"Craig's house," he says. "That's where I'm going, so I thought I'd grab you to tag along."

"Has he let you fuck 'im yet?" I ask.

Kenny smiles slightly. "Yeah," he says. "We had sex for the first time a couple days ago. It was nice." He presses the tips of his fingers to his lips, stifling his smile. "I really like this guy," he confesses.

"I can tell," I admit.

It doesn't take us long to reach the Tucker residence. Kenny lets himself in before announcing his presence. We greet his parents and then go upstairs into Craig's room. Kenny must come here a fucking lot to feel comfortable enough to let himself in like that.

Upstairs, Craig is on his bed reading a book. When he sees us, he slips a bookmark inside and places it on his nightstand. Kenny flops on top of him and Craig laughs, locking his arms around Kenny's back. Wow. Craig laughing. What a sound. Aren't they the happy fuckin' couple… Lovely.

After a minute of listening to them mack on each other, they detangle and Craig greets me. "Hey," he says. "Sorry."

"Hey," I echo, holding up a hand. "It's fine. You guys are happy." I sit down near the end of the bed. "If you guys want to fuck I can leave."

Craig shakes his head and Kenny says, "You're gonna stick around until your high starts to wear off."

I sigh at that. "I wonder how many people in the world are fucking right now," I muse aloud.

"Probably lots," Craig guesses.

"I wish I was fucking right now," I mumble. "I wish I was fucking Kyle."

Kenny leans over and pats me on the head like I'm a fuckin' puppy before saying, "Don't think about him right now."

How the fuck can I not after what Kenny just told me?

* * *

><p>After a few more very annoying hours, Kenny lets me leave. They probably couldn't wait for me to sober up so they could have at each other.<p>

I go straight home and when I step inside I see my dad in front of the TV drinking beer. I tighten my jaw, slipping out of my shoes and moving past him and into the kitchen. I get a class of water and sit at the table, sipping on it. After a few minutes, my dad enters the room and reaches into the fridge for another can of beer. When he turns around, he lingers and I keep praying he won't try to talk to me.

"Stop worrying your mother," he finally says. "Coming home late like this all the time… looking like something the cat dragged in. What the hell are the neighbours gonna think, huh?"

"Nothing that isn't true," I retort calmly, trying to will away any emotion in my tone. "An alcoholic father, a whore son, a resentful daughter and a mother who can't keep up. That's us. That's the exact picture we paint." I abandon the half-empty glass of water and start to leave, but my dad grabs me by the back of the shirt.

"Don't walk away when I'm talking to you," he says angrily.

I turn around and laugh in his face. "Or, what? You'll hit me? Do it. Please."

"I wouldn't fucking do that and you know it, you little shit," he responds.

"Why not?" I taunt, shoving him. "You hate me, right? So, why does it matter?"

"I've _never_ said that," he protests.

I suppose he's right. In the end, maybe he doesn't hate me. Maybe he just doesn't care at all. It's worse to not care about someone at all than to hate them. Then at least you feel something... but he doesn't feel anything for me.

He stares at me with a flat expression. After a brief silence, I make a move to shove him again but he stops me and grabs both my wrists. We stare at one another and it's uncomfortable. It's awkward. It's fucking depressing me worse than ever. I feel my eyes start to get wet and the last thing I want to do is cry in front of him. "Let go," I say somewhat frantically, shaking my arms and trying to free myself.

He relents and I run upstairs.

Who the hell does he think he is talking to me like that? He's not allowed to. He's not allowed to pretend he cares. He's not allowed to say anything to me.

I change into my night clothes and cross the hall into the bathroom to brush my teeth. I take a string of deep, heaving breaths. I'm angry. I wish I wasn't. I shouldn't let him get to me like this. I should just ignore him. I should pretend he doesn't exist… but fuck, I have no self-control. I have no will power. I'm as weak in mind as I am in body.

Since it's fairly late, I decide to just go to bed. I'll sleep in late tomorrow. Maybe I'll just sleep the entire day away.

* * *

><p>No such luck. Tomorrow around 3PM, Kenny saunters into my bedroom.<p>

"What?" I ask him, rolling over and forcing him to stare at my back.

"I come bearing more news about our Jewish friend," he responds.

I let out a sigh, rolling back around again and facing him. "Get on with it, then."

"Kyle got into it with Terrance," Kenny tells me, sitting at the edge of my bed. "He's been fighting a lot lately."

"Who won?" I ask, sitting up.

"No one, really," Kenny admits with a shrug. "Terrance is pretty buff. A bunch of us intervened and broke it up. Kyle was on some sort of adrenaline rush, I think. Terrance could have easily kicked his ass on a normal day, but Kyle was like, really going at it. I think they both got in the about the same amount of damage."

I just nod my head. "So, why were they fighting?"

"Well… to simply put it – they were fighting about you," he reveals.

"Me?" I question.

Kenny nods his head. "Terrance started it by taunting Kyle," he starts. "Apparently Kyle's been buyin' sleeping pills off of him. Anyway, Terrance asked how you were doing, hinted that he gave you some drugs. Kyle got pissed off and swung his fists. Terrance was on a roll. He added that you give good head. That made Kyle snap like a twig. He just went nuts." Kenny grimaces, shaking his head before asking me, "Why the hell would you suck Terrance Mephesto's dick? He is the gnarliest looking guy in this crusty town."

I just shrug and laugh and then I start to sob because I honestly have no fucking idea.

Kenny sighs, hugging me and telling me, "It's okay, dude. It happens to the best of us."

* * *

><p>Two weeks later and I feel like I'm stuck. I feel like I'm digging myself into an even deeper hole while trying to lessen my contact with Kyle. I want to put a wall up between us without actually getting the words out. That's the hard part.<p>

I'm no good at social events and they always end up the same way, especially as of late. I will try hard to laugh at the right time, accept the compliments I get, smile politely, make the appropriate eye contact, and try not to show how nervous I am. At some point throughout the night, I'll excuse myself and skip off to the bathroom because these social events are a lot harder than they look. I'll pop a few anti-anxiety pills and wait. I'll try not to think about what I'm doing, and I'll try to hold back any tears. I'll take a breath and allow myself to feel something good instead. I'll check myself in the mirror before walking out of the room, and when I do I'll feel like everyone is staring at me. I'll just clear my throat, smile nervously and try to find my friends. They will give me disappointed looks, because they know. They always know. I'll talk more easily with everyone now. I'll smile more confidently, talk with an ease that wasn't there before. I won't even have to remind myself to do these things. However, Kyle will be there too. He's always there. He'll put a hand on my back, lowering it until it's somewhere it shouldn't be. I'll be there trying to hold it together while he touches me in front of all these people. It's not real, but in my mind I'll try to play the part of the happy guy in love… only to find out that I can't. I'll turn to him and politely excuse myself again. I'll run back into the bathroom and stay there for the rest of the night until Kenny or Wendy comes to get me. They'll walk me back out into the crowd and they will shoot Kyle a look – a look that says, "I _know_." But he won't care. He never does. He'll take it as a challenge, and you know what the sickest part of it all is? When I'm back home, and I'm alone and undressing in front of the mirror, I'll wish he was there. It doesn't matter that he's not a solid person. It doesn't matter that he's a little twisted – I'll want him to cover my mouth and bend me over anyway because shit, I guess I'm just that fucked up kind of person. He is killing me and I miss it. I miss the feeling of him suffocating me and because of that I want to relent and be with him, but I know I can't. The cycle is toxic. He hurts me and pretends it never happened and we both move on. I try to put up a distance, but I can't.

It's fucking ridiculous. When Kyle isn't around to dull my senses, I settle for strangers or people who treat me like shit. I can't stop it. I need help. I know I need help, but I can't get out the words. I don't even know if I _want_ the help I so desperately need.

I can't fucking breathe in this house. I turn downstairs and hover. In the living room there's a figure of Jesus sitting on the mantle, shining his eternal light on everyone in the household. Through wet eyes, I stare at the statue until my vision blurs. The most important position is on your knees, whether your praising the lord of praising some guy's dick.

I'm so sad I feel like I'm going mental.

I swipe at my eyes, trying to get rid of the tears swimming down my face. Maybe I was always dead and dull on the inside, though everyone seems to think otherwise. There were times when I was young and I felt sincerely happy. I can't really remember it, but I know it must have happened.

Kyle planted a tree inside my fucking soul. He let its roots grow and he kept it nourished long enough to burn it down. In the end, you always destroy what you create. Kyle lit a fire inside of me the first time we fucked. He lit it inside of my skin and kept it going. It was strong and it was bright and it was deep. It was also dangerous. I feel like every time I remember him it's like pouring gasoline on the dulling spark and I'm about ready to burn this entire fucking place to the ground. Then everyone else would be forced to suffer with me.

Every horror movie has the stereotypical stupid slut – the one who usually dies first. What the hell is that telling people? It's saying, "That's what you get for being a dirty whore." That's me. That's what I feel like. Hit me 'til I cry. Knock me out. Fuck me. Fuck me 'til I'm gone. Fuck me 'til I bleed or 'til I'm dead. Fuck me 'til I can't feel anything because all these feelings hurt.

I can't ever remember crying this hard before. It feels like I'm choking on air, choking on thoughts, choking on memories. It's too much. I walk around like a zombie and all I do is cry and let out these miserable moans. Am I being dramatic? Maybe I am. Do I even deserve to be this sad? Maybe not, but I'm in a lot of fucking pain right now and that isn't about to change.

Last night I went to the bar even though I'm under-aged. I let some old fart buy me a drink and then I let him take me home. I took off my clothes and I got on top of him, riding him the way I'd ride Kyle, but it wasn't the same. It never is. I closed my eyes and there he was… under me, touching me the way he used to. Then I started to cry.

Rumor has it, the Marsh boy has no fucking shame. I wonder if my dad ever hears about it from his friends at the pub. I wonder what he thinks about it. About me. Probably a lot of bad things.

I'm disgusting. I'm a disgusting guy. I'm like cancer, a malignant disturbance in the lives of everyone I know. I either feel everything in the world or nothing at all. There's no in between. When the pain subsides and the numbness takes over, I'm almost relieved.

I'm so selfish lately, forcing everyone to witness the after math of all the shit I put myself through. It doesn't matter who hears me now. I stay up all night screaming myself hoarse or crying 'til I puke because if I don't get to sleep, neither does anyone else. I'm an attention seeker. That's why I act this way. That's why I go out and go home with whoever wants. I need reassurance from the people in my life. I need to feel wanted. I need to be told I look all right. I want people to want me. I need that sense of reassurance.

The pain dulls the pain. The right kind feels like an orgasm. I mix them up so easily. I feel like I haven't had sex without pain in such a long time, whether it's physical or emotional. Now there's an automatic association. I get horny when people get rough with me. Maybe it's the suicidal tendencies… the suicidal idealization. I romanticize my pain. Maybe it's the fact that I want to die, but I don't really, so I settle on this instead. I want to live, I just don't know how to do it right anymore.

Tonight will be the same as any other day. I'll fuck myself over and I'll get upset, acting like it's something I didn't seek out at the start of the night. Danger, the kind that makes you cum. After a few drinks I'll let anyone fuck me and the entire time I'll just pretend it's someone else.

I go outside and I let myself get lost in the sounds of the night. I make my way to the all-ages club near the bar. I see Terrance, Bill and Fosse. I should run the other way, but I don't. Instead, I run right into them. We talk. I drink. They exchange funny looks of humor. I pretend everything is fine. I pretend I'm just another stupid guy flirting, but eventually the name of the game changes.

"You should do porn," Terrance says to me, lighting a cigarette.

"What kind?" I ask coyly. I watch the smoke flit out from between his lips and it reminds me of Kyle.

"I could see you, like, get gang fucked by four guys," Bill adds, chortling.

"I'd fuckin' pay to see that," Fosse laughs.

I laugh along with him. "How much?"

I continue playing the part. I let them talk and I listen. The price goes higher and they describe with repulsive amounts of degrading detail what they'd like to see done to me. In a bit of a trance, I continue listening until I feel someone grab my arm and pull me away.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?" Kenny hisses at me.

My knight in shining fuckin' armor.

"Playing the part," I say, shaking him off. "People love the manipulative slut as long as he's got a good ass. I look young and innocent. People love that shit, too. They're right, you know. I should just do porn. I'm not good for much else. I can let people fuck me. They can do what they want with me. I don't even care anymore."

"How would you like not being able to shit properly?" he asks. "Because that's the road you're headed down, you dumbass! Most porn is garbage! It's a lie so many stars feel they need to perpetuate! Directors are fucking psychos and the guys who fuck you will treat you like garbage! You'll be bloody and sore and the people who fuck you will literally and figuratively walk all over you!"

"I already told you I don't fucking care!" I snap at him.

He clicks his tongue at me. "Come on, you're coming with me and Craig."

"Where?" I sigh.

"His house," he says.

I let out a whiny moan, but I follow him nonetheless. We meet up with Craig and the three of us walk along the main road. I stumble lazily and eventually Kenny just forces me to get on his back.

"Don't puke on my shoulder," he warns.

"I won't," I tell him somewhat tersely. I don't feel sick yet. I know that will probably come in the morning. I'll gladly welcome a hangover.

"I thought you stopped drinking…" Kenny murmurs. He's sounds disappointed. Well, I guess I'm disappointed, too. I'm disappointed in myself. So, I don't answer him. I just bury my face in his shoulder and let him carry me to the Tucker residence.

Kenny doesn't let me go until we arrive. Inside, Craig warns us to be quiet because his parents are probably asleep. The three of us move into the basement, which is a large, open space. There's a recliner, a two-seater sofa, a three-seater sofa, a television and a shelf of DVDs. Kenny lets me down and I stumble some more.

"I'll get you guys some blankets," Craig says before disappearing upstairs.

I open a door in the far corner of the room expecting a bathroom, but it's just a spare room full of storage boxes. "Ugh," I moan impatiently. I open the next door and find a bathroom. I pull down my pants shamelessly and sit on the toilet, peeing. I let out a long sigh of satisfaction and hear Kenny chortle in response. "Shut up," I tell him, unable to stifle a laugh. I should be embarrassed, but I guess I'm too drunk for it.

I think it's sad I'm drinking again, I really do, but I can't seem to stop it now.

I flush the toilet, hike up my pants and wash my hands before stumbling back out. Craig returns to the basement with blankets and pillows, offering one of each to me and Kenny.

"Stan, you good?" Kenny asks.

"Mm," I mumble. "You're gonna stay down here?"

"Yeah," he says. "Craig's parents aren't big on sleepovers with boyfriends. I usually sleep in the basement."

"I end up sneaking down at some point in the night," Craig confesses.

"Oh," I snort. I kick off my jeans so I'm left in my shorts and sweatshirt. Putting the pillow down, I get comfortable on the three-seater sofa and wrap myself in the blanket. "Goodnight," I tell them. I'm too tired and too drunk to stay awake.

"Goodnight," Craig says, killing the light.

"Do you mind if we chat?" Kenny asks me.

"Nah, just keep it low," I say.

And they do. I hear faint whispers, but I'm too exhausted to care.

* * *

><p>I wake up a few hours later hearing wet sex sounds. Lovely. I roll over as quietly as I can and stare at the sofa Kenny is <em>supposed<em> to be sleeping on. It's dim, but I can see the faint shapes of them moving. Kenny is lying down and Craig is on top, slowly grinding his hips in an up and down motion. I want to tell them I'm awake and that they're not being stealthy at all with their fucking… but I don't. Instead, I just enjoy the show and watch them like a voyeuristic pervert. If I were any less exhausted and drunk, I'd probably get a boner.

"Ahhh… ah…!" Craig whines, letting out these breathy moans. "F-fuck… _nnh_…" He's vocal.

They probably thought I'd be passed out for the night. Well, guess again.

"Sh," Kenny whispers gently. "If your dad hears us, he'll de-ball me."

"Sh-shut up," Craig stutters out, breath hitching. He continues panting, audibly trying to stifle his pleasure sounds.

So, I continue lying here listening and watching them fuck. God, I'm a pervert. I watch Craig get off and then I watch him go down on Kenny.

Been there, done that. Not that I'd say it out loud. I'd never say that to Craig, but Kenny probably told him. I bet Craig has the potential to be a really insecure guy. I guess I'm like that, too. I can be all the bad things.

After Kenny's orgasm, Craig lies on top of him. Kenny touches his hair, staring at him fondly. "Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?" he coos.

Craig chuckles at that. "Only every day, but I don't mind hearing it again."

Ugh.

I get jealous hearing Kenny and Craig. They might not act it when they're in public, but they're romantic as hell with each other.

* * *

><p>Come morning, I make a quick escape before either of them can wake up. I shoot Kenny a text telling him I went home. My mom looks upset at the state I'm in, but she doesn't get angry. She never does anymore. I almost miss it because her getting angry means I'm normal. The fact that she won't get angry means she doesn't think I'd be able to handle the sound of her yelling at me. I guess she's right. I don't want to have to listen to that. I'd probably cry. Everything makes me cry. I'm so sensitive and so emotional these days.<p>

I feel like roadkill. I probably look like it, too.

* * *

><p>Sex.<p>

Visits from Kenny.

Complaining to Wendy.

That's all I seem to do. It happens in a bit of a cycle. I fuck around, Kenny tells me what Kyle gets up to when I'm not there and then I go and whine about it all to Wendy.

I haven't seen Kyle in a while. I want to, but at the same time I don't want to. I owe him an explanation. He deserves to know why I've been avoiding him. He deserves to know what I'm thinking and feeling, but what he does with that information is up to him. I just need to get it out.

Summer is coming to an end and I've spent the past few weeks drinking too much and doing drugs I should avoid. Tonight is no different. I took a few pills and washed them down with whisky. Not the smartest idea, but at least I didn't have to suck anyone's dick this time.

"Stanley," my mom sighs my name as soon as I step inside. "You can't keep doing this. Every night you return home looking like something the dog chewed up and it needs to stop."

"Mm…" I moan, shielding my eyes at the lights. I kick off my shoes and take off my jacket, lazily shoving it in the closet.

"Are you drunk right now?" she asks me.

"A bit," I confess, swaying where I stand. I lean against the wall so I don't fall on my face.

"Are you also high?" she guesses next.

Spot on, Mommy. I don't say that, though. She already knows. I don't need to say a damn word. She looks so fucking disappointed in me.

Before I can get out a word, I open my mouth and puke all over the rug.

Mom looks mortified. "Randy!" she shouts for my dad before kneeling down next to me. "Stanley, what did you take?"

"Ugh," I whine, sinking onto the floor. I wipe my chin off with a shaky hand and when my dad comes downstairs he looks weary.

"Jesus Christ," my dad mutters, sounding pissed.

"Take him to the bathroom, Randy," Mom says.

"No, no… No…" I mumble, not wanting to be near. Nonetheless, the words don't stop him from picking me up and carrying my stupid ass to the bathroom. My mom follows us and my dad drops me on the floor like a bag of garbage. I crawl towards the toilet and open the lid before puking again.

I hear my mom sigh from behind me. I hear her approaching and then I feel her hand on my back, rubbing circles. "Stanley, why are you doing this to yourself?"

"I'unno," I slur out, coughing. I grab a piece of toilet paper and wipe my mouth off. She leaves the room a moment later and I flush the toilet. Gross. I sit against the wall, breathing heavily. My throat feels raw and my mouth taste like shit. I swear, all that's in my stomach these days is cum and liquor.

When she returns, she's holding a glass of water. She hands it to me and sits on the floor next to me. I kind of want her to go away. I want to be alone right now. I'm too humiliated.

"You owe me answers, Stanley," she says gently. "I'm your mother. Now, tell me what this is all about. Is it about your trip to the hospital?"

"No," I murmur, sipping slowly.

"Is it about Kyle?"

I hesitate. "No," I murmur again. It's a lie and she knows it.

She gives a long nod. "All right," she says softly.

"I love him…" I confess in a pained whisper. "I love him so fucking much and he doesn't love me."

Mom shifts closer and starts playing with my hair. "He does love you," she offers.

"No," I murmur. "Probably not… At least… not the way I want him to. He's said it. I doubt that will change."

"That happens sometimes," she says sadly, "but most people fall in love more than once, sweetie."

I don't find it reassuring. "Not me," I say with finality. I've loved Kyle since we were kids. That's not going away. I know it won't.

"Have you started taking your pills again yet?" she asks offhandedly.

"No," I mumble.

"Don't you think you should?"

"Yes…"

"We've had this conversation before," she points out, "but it never results in anything. Why is that? What's stopping you?"

"Me?" I offer. It's a partial guess. I'm always stopping myself. I'm always scared. While other people treat me like shit, maybe _I'm_ the person who treats me the worst. I let people walk all over me. I used to be so headstrong. I used to have so much going for me. I was star quarterback, even though I hated it. I was dating cheerleader captain Wendy Testaburger. We were the school's golden couple. Everyone loved us, but it all went down the drain when I got older. I realized that I was unhappy. I still am. I don't know how to fix it.

My mom sighs, lowering her hand and placing it on my shoulder. "I know I can't force you to take your pills," she starts. "I know I can't force you to sign yourself into a clinic. I know I can't force you to do anything… but please consider your options."

"I will," I say, even though I probably won't. I just tell her what she likes to hear. After that we stand up and I wash my hands.

We part ways with a, "Goodnight." She goes back downstairs and I move into my bedroom. I undress 'til I'm in the buff and then I crawl into bed.

* * *

><p>Come morning, I'm too hung over to budge an inch and everything hurts. Sparky is once again at the end of my bed keeping me company. It's comforting.<p>

Eventually my mom walks in with a glass of water and an ice pack to press on my forehead. "Stanley, you're on a dangerous path right now," she says. "Don't you want to move on with your life? Don't you want a job? A family?"

"I don't know what I want," I whisper.

"This needs to end here," she adds with finality.

"I know," I say.

I know, I know, I know, I fucking know!

* * *

><p>Late in the evening, my mom tells me I have a visitor. I expect it to be either Kenny or Wendy, but it's neither. Instead it's Cartman and he's here alone. He enters my room, shutting the door behind him after my mom walks off.<p>

With a sigh, I sit up and get to my feet. "What do you want?" I ask him dully, crossing my arms.

Without a word, Cartman slinks towards me and slaps the shit out of me until my cheeks are numb and I'm on the floor crying. "I'm sick of this shit!" he snaps at me. "Who the hell are you? Because this isn't the Stan Marsh I know! This is some weak little bitch! We're all getting sick of dragging your stupid ass home and catering to you all the time. Stop the fucking pity party!"

All I can do is stare at the carpet with wide eyes. I take deep, heaving breaths and continue sobbing.

I hear Cartman sigh. "Look at me," he demands. So, I do and he offers his hand, helping me stand.

My mom pokes her head back into my room a moment later. "Is everything all right in here?" she asks.

"Fine, mom," I tell her, wiping my cheeks. She looks unsure, but she leaves nonetheless. I let out a shuddery breath, pressing the tips of my fingers to my closed eyelids.

"Look what you've been reduced to," Cartman mutters. "Is this really how you want to go on?"

"No," I whimper, trying to will away my tears.

With another sigh, Cartman puts a hand on my shoulder and pulls me into his chest. He slaps me on the back awkwardly and says, "It's all up to you, Stan. Are you ready to take a step towards something better or do you want to stay in the gutter?"

I lean against him for a minute. I hate the fact that I'm allowing Cartman to comfort me, but I'm fucking starving for affection. "Why should I listen to someone who just beat me up?" I ask him, drawing away and crossing my arms. "Is this why you came without Wendy? Because you knew she'd stop you? Or maybe you just didn't want her to see you acting like a fucking psycho."

He rolls his eyes. "I slapped you, like, five times and it's just because I knew you'd listen. Not a big deal. Sometimes a little violence is what people need."

"Sadist," I mutter.

"And you're a masochist," he retorts offhandedly. "Now answer my god damn question: Are you ready to be better or do you want to keep rolling around in shit?"

I sit on the edge of my bed and stare at the floor. "The answer should be obvious, shouldn't it?" I ask. "Well, of course I want to reach for something better. I want to be happy. I just don't know how. Nothing makes me happy anymore. Even things that I used to love I now hate. The same goes for people, though it's a little bit on the opposite spectrum of things. People I used to hate… I can't stay away from."

"Sometimes you need to force yourself to move," Cartman says. "You need to fake it 'til you make it. Next time Terrance asks you to suck him off tell him no and say, 'You don't deserve me,' or some shit like that."

I wince. "Ah, you heard about that?"

Why do I sleep with people who treat me like shit? 'Til this day, Kenny is still the only guy who hasn't disappointed me.

"Everyone from South Park to North Park heard about that," Cartman snorts back a laugh. "Not your proudest moment, ay?"

"I don't seem to have many proud moments," I admit.

Cartman shrugs. "Make a change, then. Things like self-esteem can be gained back, y'know."

"Can they?" I wonder.

"Well, duh," he says surely. "People can change."

I roll my eyes, but nonetheless I find myself smiling. "I can see that," I tell him. He's a perfect example of it. "You actually care, don't you?"

"Not really," he denies it, shoving his hands in his pocket and looking away.

"All right," I say. "I'll try. Trying is good, right?"

Cartman nods at me. "That's how it all begins, Stanny. A decision some effort. You can do it, y'know. You can be what you were. You can gain back what you've lost. Well, some of it, at least. You can be happy and all that gay shit everyone wants… You can have it, too."

"Hm," I muse. It's a strange and almost foreign thought. "Thanks, Cartman."

He rolls his eyes at me. "Yeah, whatever, don't get all faggy on me."

Tomorrow I'll be honest.

Tomorrow I'll tell Kyle.

And tomorrow... I'll finish it. I have to.


	8. Because I love you

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Parallels in the start and end of this chapter hahaha.**

* * *

><p>Winter is back with vengeance and there's already snow on the ground. I would expect nothing less from this crappy town… but it's familiar in a sense that's almost comforting.<p>

So, I started to take my pills again. Finally. I've noticed a difference, but I really fucking hate to credit my prescription for it. While I feel lighter in some ways, I feel heavier in others. I've been doing a lot of stupid shit. Now all I can do is mope and regret it all. Still, I'll try to keep the moping to a minimum, though I'll probably always regret it.

I agreed to start seeing my therapist again. My first session is coming up and I'm nervous. I'm nervous and I'm scared about having to tell her how far I've fallen recently. I think everything scares me lately. Fear is something I've never been able to detach myself from. I'm scared of disappointing people, though it seems to be all I'm doing lately. I let everyone down.

Today is going to be hard, but I think I need to get it over with. It's something I need to do. It's something I've needed to do for a long time. I'm scared, though. I'm scared at how Kyle might react. He keeps trying to call me, but I never answer. It's cruel of me, but I've been doing a lot of thinking. I didn't want to have to face Kyle until I was sure.

I don't find him at home and I don't find him at the synagogue, either. This time, I find him at the pond – the pond where Ike died. He's on the opposite end, staring out at the ice.

"Why are you avoiding me?" he calls.

I dismiss the question. "Kyle," I say his name, taking a step forward onto the frozen water.

He looks like he's about to break. "Stan, don't… don't do that…" he pleads weakly.

Maybe I'm a callous asshole for doing this to him, but I'm angry. I stomp across slowly and he starts bawling, begging for me to stop. He looks like he's going insane at the simple thought of what might happen if the ice cracks.

"We need to talk," I tell him calmly, stopping in the very center of the pond.

"STOP IT!" he shrieks at me, holding his head in his hands. "FUCKING STOP IT!"

"How do you feel about me, Kyle?" I ask, taking one more slow step forward.

"I fucking love you," he confesses shakily. "So fucking stop this…"

"You love me?" I question with a scoff. "How?"

"I just love you," he says. "Simple as that."

"I see," I murmur. "I'm getting so fucking tired of this, Kyle. Really fucking tired. I'm good enough to fuck but nothing more than that? You don't want to be tied down with Kenny and Wendy and whoever else's sloppy seconds?"

His expression grows hardened. "We're not continuing this conversation until you're standing next to me."

"Fine," I bite out. Tight-jawed, I trek the rest of the way across the pond. I can hear faint cracks beneath my feet, but I don't fall through. Soon enough I'm standing right in front of Kyle. He turns and the two of us leave Stark's Pond. "Can we talk now?" I ask.

"No," he says. "I don't want to do this outside. It's cold."

More excuses.

So, we walk to the Broflovski house. The driveway is empty, fortunately. Inside, we kick off our boots and hang up our coats before moving into the living room. Kyle stands in the center and crosses his arms, wordlessly telling me to say what it is I want to say.

I stand in front of him once again and take a breath. "All we do is fuck," I finally continue. "It's not even rewarding. It's just bullshit. How did we even get here? We used to _talk_. We used to be _friends_."

"We _are_ friends," he insists. "We're best friends."

"Well, how come it doesn't feel like it?"

He rolls his eyes at me. "You're being melodramatic. Stop trying to make this into something it's not, Stan."

"Why are you doing this to me?" I ask weakly.

"Stop whining," he moans, grabbing his head again. "You're really frustrating me…"

"Stop it!" I snap at him. "You don't get to say shit like that to me! You're not allowed to tell someone you've beat down to be strong!"

"What?" he looks at me, biting out the word.

"Depressed is such an overused word, but it's fucking relevant," I tell him bitterly. "I'm so dependent on you and it's making me even sicker than I am. I depend on you more than I depend on my pills… When you're sad, I'm sad. When you're happy, I'm happy. When you're fucking me I'm more miserable than ever because I know the love I feel is different than the so-called love you feel. It shouldn't be that way, should it? It makes no fucking sense. We need time apart, okay? I know that the most fucked up part is that when it all sets in and when I realize I'm not going to get to see you again for a while... I'll miss it. I'll miss you. I'll even miss the bad parts, the fucking abuse you keep putting me through. Well, it has to end. For me. For you. For everyone who comes into contact with us, it needs to fucking stop. I honestly feel like you're killing me. Friendship shouldn't feel that way."

Kyle falters, looking absolutely mortified at each word that leaves my mouth. "What?" he repeats himself, weaker this time. "Abuse?"

"You're fucking _killing_ me and I'm _letting_ you!" I scream.

"No, no, no…" he mumbles, putting a hand over his face. "Stop it… It's not like that."

"Yeah, it fucking is!" I continue shouting. "I'm _tired_, Kyle! I can't keep doing this!"

"Stop it!" he screams back, cupping his hands over his ears like he can't bear hearing what I'm saying.

"I'm fucking erratic and unstable and all over the place. So are you. We can't be around each other when we're like this. It's not fucking healthy."

He starts weeping. "You don't know what it's like!" he accuses me. "I'm hurting! I'm in pain, Stan! I'm suffering! Every fucking day I'm woken up by my own sadness and ten times a day I'm forced to run to the bathroom and drown it because my own fucking mother can't stand listening to me cry, let alone seeing my fucking face! DON'T YOU _CARE_?" His voice gets louder and louder until he's screaming the words at me.

"Of course I care!" I hiss back. "Don't fucking accuse me of not caring! If I didn't care about you, I would have been gone a long time ago!" I let out a breath, trying to calm down. "I need to work on myself."

"No, you don't!" he insists.

"Where the hell is this coming from?" I demand. "I'm not your toy, Kyle!"

"Yes, you are!" he shouts. "You're _mine_!"

"I'm not!" I shout back. "I'm not yours! I'm not anybody's!"

He looks distraught. "But… but I want you to be mine. Only mine."

It's a childish confession and I don't know what to do with it. "Yet you still don't want to be with me…" I murmur.

"I don't know what I want," he whispers weakly. "All I know is I want you to be mine and no one else's."

With an angry sigh I bite out, "Love and possession aren't the same thing, Kyle!" I snap at him. I continue, my voice getting louder. The entire time he listens, stunned to the point of silence. When I'm finished, he looks lost. We simply stare at one another until he breaks eye contact.

He falls to his knees, grabbing my hips and sobbing into my stomach. "Please, please…" he cries. "I love you… I love you… Please…"

I let out a shuddery breath and close my eyes for a minute. I could stay here. I could relent and continue to give him what he wants… but I won't. I can't. Not this time. Not ever again.

"God help me," I whisper, pushing him away and running out the door as fast as I can. No looking back.

* * *

><p>That was that. I stopped talking to Kyle. I stopped having sex with him. I haven't even seen him. A week has passed and I feel like fucking shit when I think about him, but I'm not going to crawl back. Not again. I need to make it on my own. I need to separate myself from him. I can't keep allowing him in. I can't let my emotions depend on his.<p>

I've been avoiding parties. My social circle is small. I spend most of my time with Kenny, Craig, Wendy and Cartman. I also spend a lot of time with my mom when she's not at work. No one talks about Kyle. Kenny hasn't even been telling me what he's been up to and I've forced myself not to ask.

Today is my first appointment with my therapist. She's kind and old and I wouldn't trust myself in the hands of any other doctor.

So, here I am again. I'm sitting in the waiting room and soon enough she pops out of her office and calls me in. I stand up and step into the little room. It hasn't changed. I sit on the sofa and she sits at her desk.

"Long time no see, Stanley."

"Yeah, hi," I respond.

She starts asking me questions and I start answering. I tell her about Kyle. I tell her a _lot_ about Kyle. I tell her about Kenny and Craig and Wendy and Cartman. I tell her about sex with Kenny. I tell her about Craig entering the picture. I tell her about Wendy being my compass to sanity. I tell her about Cartman slapping the shit out of me. I answer all her questions with as much detail as I can muster because I truly do what to get better.

By the end, she calls me psychologically vulnerable, but she says it in a way that doesn't sound so cruel. Nonetheless, it's true. I know it is. She also says I need closure with my father. That's true, too. I need to come to terms with the fact that my dad isn't going to turn around and magically start liking me. He never tried to get to know me. He only tried to change me into what he wanted me to be. Well, fuck him.

"Same time next week?" she asks after the hour is up.

"Yeah, thanks," I murmur before standing up and leaving.

* * *

><p>I spend the rest of the day wandering around the town. I begin to make my way home when the sun goes down. I stare up at the darkening sky and trudge through the freshly fallen snow. I walk past the park and see Terrance and his shitty friends.<p>

I pull my hood up and pray he doesn't call me out, but no luck –

"Marsh!" he shouts.

Hating myself for it, I turn and walk towards them. "What?" I ask.

With a smile, Terrance reaches into his pocket and pulls out a baggy of powder. "Want some of this?" he taunts, waving it around. "Be a good boy and get on your knees."

"No," I say for what feels like the first time in my fucking life. I walk away after that and I don't look back. I just keep on walking. I take deep, heavy breaths. I can't be here. I don't think I'd have the will power to say no again if I got asked a second time.

I run along the main road until I'm back at my house. I swing open the door and breathe in the familiar sent of home.

"Stanley, how was it?" Mom asks as soon as I step inside. She meets me at the door, ready to play twenty questions.

I force a smile. "It went fine," I tell her, taking off my boots and hanging up my coat. "It was a lot to handle in one session, I guess… I went for a walk after to clear my head."

"Are you all right?" she questions. "You look anxious."

I shake my head. "I'm fine…" I promise. "I saw some guys –" I cut myself off and shake my head again. "No, never mind. I'm fine."

"Stanley," she sighs. "Honesty, remember? No lies."

"I saw some guys I did stuff with," I murmur vaguely. We move into the kitchen and she gets me a glass of juice. I nod my thanks and we sit at the table.

"_Did stuff_…" she repeats slowly. "_Stuff_ as in drugs or sex?"

"Both," I mumble shamefully.

"Oh, Stanley," she sympathizes.

"I don't want to talk about that anymore," I whisper, starting to feel knots on my gut. I grab the glass of juice and take a sip of it.

"All right," Mom relents. "How are you holding up?"

"I don't know," I admit with a snort. "Sometimes I think I'm doing fine but then I remember things and I just get so, so, so sad…"

"That's understandable, sweetie," she says. "You've had a rough year."

Yeah and whose fault is that? Mine. I can't help but think about all the ways I could have avoided putting myself through all this shit. If only I could bring myself to say NO more often. It's numbing to have so much self-hatred bottled up. It's a sickening feeling.

I haven't been crying at all, which might be a good thing. I haven't been smiling or laughing, either, though. Then again, the latter is nothing new.

* * *

><p>Come morning, I wake up to the sound of my alarm. I've been trying not to sleep my days away. I've been trying to get on a stricter sleep schedule. Early to sleep and early to rise. It's better that way, right? I've come to realize that there's nothing sadder than being awake while everyone else is asleep. You feel like you're the only person in the world. It's lonely and unfulfilling.<p>

Get out of bed.

Stretch my arms and legs.

Move across the hall and into the bathroom

Take a piss.

Take a shower with soap and shampoo.

Rinse off.

Dry off.

Get dressed in something nice.

Go down for breakfast.

Start the day and don't forget to fucking breathe.

I've been telling my mom I love her. I feel like I don't say it enough and I want her to know it. I want her to know I don't take her for granted. She's given me so much support throughout the years. She was there for me when I came out. She was there for me when dad stopped pretending to like me. She was there for me when Kyle snapped… And she's here for me now as I'm trying to build myself back up.

I spend the day doing errands with my mom since it's her day off. We go to the grocery store and then we get smoothies at the mall.

It's nice. I've missed this while I was preoccupied with my feelings for Kyle. I've really fucking missed it.

When we return home, I help her make an early dinner. We eat when Shelly comes home. Fortunately, my dad is still at work.

Me and Shelly have been more affectionate with one another. It's nice, in a weird way.

At the table, Shelly tells us about her day while my mom adds a comment here and there. I simply listen and soak up the comforting normality of it all. It's familiar, but distantly so. I feel like I've been so caught up with my own shit I've really neglected the simpler things in life.

* * *

><p>After eating, the three of us sit in the living room. Me and Shelly channel surf while my mom knits. The television is on, but no one is really watching it. We're just talking.<p>

Around 7PM, my cellphone starts ringing. With a sigh, I dig it out of my pocket. "Hello?" I answer.

"_Stan_," comes the response, followed by a shaky sigh. It's Kenny. In the background I can hear loud sounds, voices and shouts.

"What's up?" I ask him. "Where the hell are you? It sounds loud."

"_Dude, it's Kyle_," Kenny says somewhat fearfully. "_He's gonna do something fucking crazy. You better come down to the bridge, man… and come fast_."

He hangs up before I can respond, leaving me somewhat stunned, confused and very worried.

"Stanley?" my mother questions.

I feel my eyebrows draw together. "I… I need to step out for a sec," I say airily. I don't hesitate to throw on my boots and coat before running outside. I continue running down the street and towards the suspension bridge that leads you out of South Park. A few cop cars speed past me and I'm hoping to God it doesn't have anything to do with Kyle. I pick up my speed, slipping on a few ice patches along the way.

Soon enough I'm making my way through a crowd of people gathered near the suspension bridge on the outskirts of town. What the hell is everyone gawking at?

"What the fuck…?" I mutter to myself as I move closer to the front of the crowd.

Then I see it – I see Kyle. It makes me lose my fucking breath. He's standing on the opposite side of the railing, staring down at vastness of the canyon. If he were to let go and fall…

"Kyle!" I scream his name at the top of my lungs, wanting him to know I'm here for him. "KYLE!"

I shove past the rest of the townsfolk. There are cops trying to coax him to safety and there are onlookers with sympathy in their eyes. One cop is trying to talk some sense into Kyle while the others try to keep the crowd at bay. None of it seems to be working. One false move… one wrong word… and he'll be gone – _splat_ – all over the rocks below.

He won't be Kyle anymore. He'll just be… nothing.

I feel numb, like I can't possibly be seeing what I'm seeing. I glance to the side and spot Kenny. He's not crying, but he looks close to it. Craig is next to him, looking sombre. Wendy has tears in her eyes and Cartman is standing next to her, stone cold. There are some other familiar faces in the crowd, but I pay them little mind. They don't matter right now.

Sheila and Gerald aren't here. They're probably out of town again. Well, no matter how this night ends they'll be called back soon enough – whether it's to identify their son and plan a funeral or if it's to tell them he's been institutionalized. There's no way he's walking after this.

"Let me through," I hoarsely plead with one of the cops. "I'm his best friend… I can… I can try to talk to him."

He's hesitant, but he relents. With shaky legs, I move towards the railings.

"Don't come any closer," Kyle hisses as my footsteps grow nearer. He doesn't bother turning to face me. He seems mesmerized by the canyon just below his feet.

I stop in my tracks, letting out a shuddery sigh. "It's me," I tell him weakly, trying to make my voice sound strong and loud but I can't. "It's Stan."

Kyle lets out a laugh that sounds like a sob. "Stan…" he says my name. "You promised you wouldn't go…" he accuses me.

"I'm sorry," I tell him. "I'm here now, though… Just come to me and we can talk. We can talk about anything you want."

"No," he murmurs. I see his grip loosen and I feel my stomach drop. It's like he's hanging onto life by just a mere thread. "Kyle, please… Just listen to me," I plead with him, feeling frantic.

"You've already said what you wanted to say," Kyle says in a mechanical, lifeless voice. "I'm a burden. I'm a burdensome friend. I hurt you. All I do is hurt you. I hurt people. I hurt everyone…"

It starts to rain. Sprinkles at first, but then showers. What a cliche. It's like the sky is already mourning. No snow tonight, but it's still fucking cold and my teeth are chattering.

"Kyle," I say his name yet again. I try to talk over the sounds of the rain. I feel like I'm gonna throw up, but I force the lump back down my throat.

"Shut up!" he shouts. His grip loosens further and he's hanging over the gorge, staring down. He's ready to slip. He'll die. If he falls, he'll die. His body will be ruined when it lands on the rocks. Maybe it won't even be recognizable.

"Kyle," I say his name once more, keeping my voice raised. The wind keeps trying to talk over me, but I'm trying to get him to hear what I have to say. "R-remember when we were kids and we'd always make faces behind my sister's back? She talked a lot of shit… and I guess that was our way of getting back at her without inflicting her wrath. Remember when I wrote you that damn song to make you come back from San Francisco? Remember when we were partnered up for the stupid egg project? Remember when we used to play guitar hero? We've been friends since we were crawling. We used to call each other when we'd have nightmares. It's always been about us. I stole a fucking kidney for you!" I continue talking about memories, some old and some new. "In the end, it was all about you and me… and without you here, nothing will be the same. I… I love you, Kyle. You're my best friend. I need you. S-so… So just come here… Please…"

It's quiet… eerily so. There's just the rain. No voices. Even the crowd has silenced. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I stare at Kyle's back. His hair is soaked and his curls are dripping. He's still.

"Kyle? Please…"

"Sorry, Stan," he says. "Goodbye."

And then he lets go.

The rest happens in slow motion: with a sharp gasp, I lunge forward and wrap my arms around his torso. The guard rail separates our bodies, but I hold his tight, refusing to let him fall. With all the strength I can muster, I keep him like this until a cop moves forward and drags Kyle to safety. He struggles, but it's in vain. By now, he's screaming and shouting accusations every which way while half the damn town just watches. Nosy pigs, most of them. I want them to scatter and go home, but everyone loves a tragedy… as long as it's not happening to them. They're worse than vultures.

I sniffle, watching Kyle's breakdown. After a few more harsh words, he silences himself. He sinks to the ground once the cop releases him and he stares off into empty space, looking like nothing is registering. I kneel in front of him and wrap my arms around his neck. I know I'm bawling like a baby by now, but I don't give a shit.

Kyle sits limp in my hold but I don't want to let him go just yet. I don't understand why he would go and do a thing like this. Death is never the answer.

"Why?" I choke out the question, finally forcing myself to release him. I place my hands on his shoulders and stare into his eyes, but they look so fucking empty. It's unsettling.

"Why _not_?" he retorts.

"What about me?" I ask.

"You don't need me," he states.

"I do need you…" As much as I hate to admit it, it's true. I'm a fucking parasite for him and I guess he's one for me, too. Maybe soulmates is a nicer word for it, but it might not suit us.

I lean forward and kiss Kyle with as much feeling as I can muster. Maybe it's the wrong thing to do, but I don't know how else to communicate what it is I'm trying to tell him. I try to forget that everyone is watching us. Right now, it's just me and Kyle.

When I draw back, his eyes are closed. "I'm sorry," he says again in that soft, solemn tone.

"It's okay, Kyle," I whisper. "It's okay."

But it's not. Nothing is.


	9. For all that we've lost

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thanks for reviewing :) last chapter before the epilogue. **

* * *

><p>Kyle was taken to Hell's Pass for a psychiatric evaluation and then transferred to a hospital in Denver. I haven't seen him since. I'm a mess. Again. It's like just when I began to take a step forward, I forced myself to take ten steps backwards.<p>

October went by in a blur, but I still remember the worst part of each day. On the first there was denial. On the second there was more denial. On the third it stopped. On the fourth the waterworks started. On the fifth they ended. On the sixth there were arguments with my family. On the seventh there was more denial. On the eighth Kenny came to check on me. On the ninth my dad got drunk and called me annoying. On the tenth I cried some more. On the eleventh I tried to remember the good days. On the twelfth my thoughts kept me up all night. On the thirteenth I relapsed and got mind-numbingly drunk again. On the fourteenth I welcomed a gnarly hangover. On the fifteenth I felt guilty. On the sixteenth I couldn't breathe. On the seventeenth my mom tried to get me out of bed. On the eighteenth I forced myself to eat. On the nineteenth I turned nineteen. On the twentieth I went to a party. On the twenty-first I woke up in some old fart's bed. On the twenty-second I cried all day. On the twenty-third Kenny came to visit again. On the twenty-fourth he came with Wendy and they both looked so fucking sad. On the twenty-fifth I prayed. On the twenty-sixth I forgot every broken promise I made to myself. On the twenty-seventh I made new promises. On the twenty-eighth I wondered if I would follow through. On the twenty-ninth I admitted to myself that the answer is probably no. On the thirtieth my mom tried to get me out of bed again.

I feel like all I do is cry and fuck up and then pretend everything is fine. I sleep too much and when I'm not sleeping I'm out doing things I shouldn't be doing.

That brings us to right now. It's the thirty-first and I'm still lying in bed. My hair is greasy and I feel disgusting. My mom comes in and tries to get me out of bed once more, but I don't budge. I'm too busy dwelling and being a bitch.

Everyone will be getting ready to go to Halloween parties, but not me. I'm still stuck. I stopped taking my pills again after Kyle tried to off himself. I know that's stupid of me, but I don't feel like I deserve to have things made easier for me. Part of it's my fault, after all. If Kyle died... I don't know what I would have done. Nothing would have been okay. I think if Kyle died, a part of me would have died with him. The largest part of me.

My parents haven't been fighting. That stopped earlier in the month when I stopped leaving my room. It's been quiet. So, so quiet.

"Stanley?" I hear her say my name and she sounds so far away that it barely registers. "Stanley?" she tries again. "Stanley Randall Marsh!"

I can't even bring myself to open my mouth.

Soon, my mom leaves. She always relents. Everyone does. It's because I'm so fucking stubborn. Kenny and Wendy haven't been by in a while. I don't blame them. They probably don't know what else to do. Wendy has university and Kenny is probably preoccupied with his life with Craig and his job.

I feel like I'm grieving, yet no one died. Still, I'm mourning some sort of loss.

A few minutes later, my mom returns and this time she brings my dad. He approaches me and I immediately recoil. "Up we go, Stanley," he says, hooking an arm under my legs and an arm under my back.

"Stop…!" I protest weakly. My voice is soft. It's the first word I've spoken in weeks. My mom watches piteously as my dad takes me across the hall. He sets me down and I immediately sink to the floor. He draws a bath and sits on the edge of the tub, staring down at me as it fills.

"I'm sorry," he says. It comes out in a murmur. He doesn't say why he's apologizing. I don't know if it's genuine. I don't know what it means.

I stare down at the patterns on the tiles, not saying a damn word. When the tub is filled, he leaves and I force myself to stand. I undress, feeling groggy and slow. Once I'm naked, I hover I front of the scale. If I weigh myself, I'll only feel bad for losing weight. Still, I step on it.

117 pounds.

The number glares at me and I frown. I lost eight pounds. Skinny. I guess I've been neglecting my health for a while. This isn't something recent.

I turn away and I stand in front of the tub. It's hot and it stings as I step in, but I try not to let it bother me. I sit down and sniffle before starting to weep. I bring a hand over my face, trying to stifle myself but it doesn't work.

I guess my mom hears, because she walks inside. "Stanley?" she whispers my name.

All I can do is stare at her. "I don't know what to do," I confess meekly. "H-how can I fix things? Everything… Everything is ruined! I ruined it!"

She still has a look of pity on her face. She tentatively approaches, sitting on the edge of the bath and grabbing the shampoo. "You don't need to fix anything, sweetie," she says. "Nothing is ruined."

I draw my knees to my chest, sobbing into them. I feel like I'm suffocating – choking on each breath I take in. I didn't think it was possible to feel like this. I'm sad and scared and fucking hopeless above all else.

I let my mom wash my hair. I don't even have it in me to be humiliated over it. "It'll be okay, sweetie," she says, murmuring soothing words – the kind of words you're supposed to tell your kid when they're all fucked up. "Everything will be okay."

After she rinses my hair, she pulls the drain and helps me out of the tub before rapping a towel around my shoulders. "There," she says, offering me a smile. "Don't you feel better?"

"I guess," I admit, clutching the towel. I move past her and walk across the hall, back into my bedroom. I dry off and drop the towel, reaching for a clean change of clothes. When I'm about to put on fresh pajamas, I hear my mom on the other side of my door.

"Stan, put on something nice," she says. "We'll go out to eat. Me, you and your sister."

"All right…" I agree somewhat begrudgingly. I grab a pair of jeans and a sweater, pulling them on along with some socks. Once modest, I move back into the hallway. "This fine?" I ask my mom.

She smiles and nods. She's probably relieved to see me on two feet, wearing something other than sweatpants.

"Have you started taking your pills yet?" she asks.

"No," I confess.

"Don't you think you should?" Her words are gentle. She's not forcing, she's just suggesting. Nonetheless, I know she knows what's best for me. She always knows.

So, I say, "Yes…"

I'm done letting the whole town fuck me.

* * *

><p>I feel lighter in ways and heavier in others. I'll decide to call Kenny the following week and tell him I got out of bed. He seems relieved with the news. I call Wendy and Cartman and tell them the same thing. I also apologize for worrying them and promise them I'm doing better. Maybe I'm be embellishing, but at the same time maybe it's just hopefulness. Fake it 'til you make it, right?<p>

Kenny is the first to pay me a visit. Naturally. He comes alone this time. For that, I'm glad. He asks me how I'm doing. I tell him I feel shitty, but I'm trying not to.

"I'm taking my pills again," I add.

"Finally," Kenny says before he can stop himself. He puts a hand over his mouth before mumbling, "Sorry."

I force a weary smile. "It's okay," I assure him.

"They wrote an article about you and Kyle, y'know," Kenny mentions cautiously. "It was in the newspaper."

"Yeah," I murmur. "My mom wouldn't let me read it."

I don't think I want to read it. Ever. Even when I'm given enough freedom to seek it out, I won't.

Kenny nods his head lightly. "Well… You didn't miss much. It was kind of vague. Headliner was: LOCAL TEEN SAVES LIFE. It didn't talk about your history with one another, of course. It just stuck to what happened that night at the bridge."

"Oh," I say quietly. I don't want to think about that night. "So, what's going on in your life? Tell me some good news. Distract me."

"I moved out," Kenny confesses with a grin.

"Oh, wow," I say. "Did you move in with Craig's family?"

Kenny nods. "They cleared out the room in the basement that they used for storage and let me have it," he says. "It's not massive or anything, but I can easily fit all my things inside. I'm beyond grateful. Sometimes Karen crashes there, but she spends most of her time with the Petersons."

I offer him a sincere smile. "I'm happy for you. Truly."

"They bought me a bed," he adds. "I cried," he confesses with a laugh. "I think Craig's family found it weird… but they don't know how much it fucking meant for me to get a new bed. They probably think I'm a big crybaby now."

"Or maybe they understand that you haven't been shown that sort of kindness before," I offer. "It'd be enough to make most people a little emotional."

"Hm," he smiles slightly. "I guess that's true… I was considering getting a second job so I could pay them rent money, but they insisted against it."

"I need a job," I mumble offhandedly.

"Take your time," Kenny says. "Ease into things. Just concentrate on yourself for a little while longer."

"Yeah," I sigh. "It's just hard. When I'm doing that, I'm forced to think about things I'd rather not think about."

"I know," Kenny sympathizes gently.

I don't want to live with my parents forever. I want to be able to make it on my own two feet someday. I'm still only nineteen, but I want to make goals for myself. I'm not like Kyle. I don't want to die. I want more for myself. I want a life that means something.

* * *

><p>Mom takes leave from work in favor of spending every waking minute with me. She says it's okay to cry over Kyle. She says it's okay to forgive him and be his friend but it's not okay to let him play around with me. I think she knows how disgustingly in love with him I am, because she also told me that it's okay for me to <em>be<em> with him… as long as he wants to be with me and as long as he's willing to give me one hundred percent of himself. Ha. It's probably way too late for that, regardless of what Kyle ended up feeling for me. You can't just brush suicide off and suicide is what Kyle attempted.

How do you move on from something so serious?

I still wonder how much of it was my fault. Then again, it was probably a lot of things. Kyle was lonely – truly lonely. He didn't even have his parents to lean on. He only had me but I left him and he was left with nothing.

When November comes to an end, Mom takes me into Denver to visit him. She sits in the waiting room while a nurse walks me to his room. It's a bit dreary, but it's not as stereotypical as it is on television dramas. There is color and light and the people don't look like they're drowning in misery.

Kyle is sitting on his bed reading a thick paperback book. As I step closer, I see that it's titled _The Wind-up Bird Chronicle_. Kyle doesn't glance at me until he's finished the page. After a minute, he dog-ears it and sets it on the nightstand.

"Stan," he greets me from where he's sitting, looking up and me and smiling airily.

"Kyle," I greet in return, glancing around the room. "No roommate?"

"No," he admits. "I had sex with my first one, so… they decided I was best left alone."

"Tsk," I click my tongue. I don't want to hear him say shit like that.

"I pretended he was you," Kyle confesses with a nervous laugh. "I don't know why. He didn't even look like you. He was blond… rough… and not very pretty. But you… you're familiar and comfortable and… maybe I love you in a way that's different than I once thought. Too late for that, though, huh? I'm stupid for not realizing what it meant sooner. Now it's all ruined."

"Yeah," I whisper. There's no point in denying it.

"I wanted you to be inside of me," Kyle murmurs. "I wanted you to be all over me." He lets out a sigh. "So, I let him fuck me. I didn't fuck him. It hurt a lot. I don't know how you handled it all those times. I kind of welcomed the pain, though. 'It hurts,' I kept thinking. Then I'd say, 'Well, good.' I wanted it to. I wanted to feel what I made you feel so many times."

"Oh," I say weakly. Knowing that makes me fucking jealous and nauseous at the same time. It puts an ache in my chest and it puts knots in my stomach.

"You won't leave me alone," Kyle says in this eerie tone, staring off into empty space. "You're… You're fucking _haunting_ me, pulling me out of these bad dreams with your own two hands but then I wake up and I remember I'm here and you're far away. I'm here because I tried to die… but I didn't die. You pulled me out of that as well, but that time I wasn't dreaming. You literally pulled me back with your own two hands and now everyone thinks you're so heroic and I'm so tragic."

"I'm sorry," I tell him.

"I have much to live for," he says. "So, why don't I want to live? I hate myself so much I want to fucking kill myself. It hurts. Why? Why does it hurt?"

"I don't know," I whisper. "You're the only one who has these answers."

He lets out a dark chuckle. "They must be buried deep, because I can't seem to find any of them."

"Oh," I say, pausing. "So… So, what do you dream about?"

"I dream about Ike dying," he reveals. I can see that the words come out easier. Maybe it's because he's so detached. "Well, perhaps I'm mostly reliving it. I'll wake up shrieking and kicking and the nurses will come in and hold me down so I don't hurt myself. On easier nights, I'll dream about other things but none of it is good. Sometimes I'll dream about fucking you but it's not the kind of dream that'll turn me on. Sometimes we'll do it hard and I'll know I'm hurting you but I won't stop and I'll wake up feeling guilty. Other times we'll do it slow and it'll be nice but I'll wake up feeling sad."

I nod slowly. I'm glad he's talking to me, but I'm not really sure what to do with what he's saying.

"Sometimes I just take off all my clothes and stand in front of a mirror until a nurse finds me and tells me to get dressed," Kyle continues. "I still don't feel like this is me… like this is my body, my bones, my skin… It's all too shitty to be real. I don't like believing I've ruined myself so much." He stops and smiles faintly, deciding to change the subject. "Tell me a story, Stanley Marsh."

"Give me a prompt," I tell him.

"Tell me a story about my future," he says. "Be optimistic. Tell the story the way you'd like it to unfold…"

I take a deep, silent breath and let it out slowly. "All right. Someday, you'll look outside and the sky will be blue. The sun will be up, but it'll only be doing half its job since this is South Park. The air will be crisp. You'll see frost on the tree branches that tap on your windows at night. The gears in your mind will start turning. You'll think about all the winters you've spent in this crummy, little town. You'll think about the people you spent these winters with. You'll think about your parents and it won't hurt as badly. You'll think about Ike and you won't feel so guilty. You'll think about your friends and you won't feel regret. You'll think about me and you won't feel so sorry. These are experiences you can't undo, but you can move on from them. And you will. It will start slow, but you'll realize that none of us blame you, Kyle. Ike doesn't blame you, Kyle."

"How do you know?" he whispers, closing his eyes.

"Because he loved you and he wouldn't have wanted you to torture yourself like this," I say surely.

"Do you blame me?" he asks. "I hurt you so many fucking times…"

"You're sick," I say. "It's not an excuse… but I can understand. So, no, I don't blame you."

"You only have one life, so why cut it short?" Kyle murmurs.

I feel my eyebrows draw together. "What?"

"That's what Cartman said to me when he came to visit," Kyle confesses. "After that, he called me batshit crazy. I guess I am. Funny. I bet that caught everyone off guard. Who thought I'd end up the crazy one? I used to have everything together… but maybe I was always a little fucked." A pause. "Everyone came before you… Why did you wait so long to come see me?"

"I was upset," I admit. "I was upset at how bad things got. I needed time alone."

Kyle doesn't respond to that. "What will I do when I leave this place?" he asks.

"I don't know," I murmur.

"Would you let me take you out?"

"I don't know," I murmur again.

He inches towards me and leans closer until our noses are nearly touching. For a minute, he simply stares at me with an unreadable expression. Then he closes the gap between our faces and pecks me on the lips quickly before drawing back. "Do you hate it when we touch?" he asks.

"No," I say. "The opposite. I just… I worry." I glance to the side, staring down at the floor. "How is therapy going?"

"Marvelous," he says with sarcasm. "I cry almost every session and I don't even know why. My therapist is really good at reading people. I guess it's part of his job. He says he can tell if the session is going to be productive as soon as his patient walks into the room. I'm trying… I really am, but he says I haven't made very much progress. Every time I leave this room I feel like I'm on the verge of a mental breakdown. Meanwhile… Kenny and Cartman come to visit me and they tell me you're busy slobbing on some old fucker's knob or you're busy getting fucked in the ass."

"I sort of lost it again," I admit, "but I'm… kind of better now."

"_Kind of better_," Kyle repeats, letting out a chuckle. "You still look fucked out. Well, at least you're doing better than me."

"I'm sorry," I offer.

He shrugs. "It's not all bad here. They let me smoke. The doctors are nice. I feel like they really want to help me most of the time… My dad comes to see me sometimes. My mom came once, but she left after one look at me. Stupid cow... Just kidding."

"Kyle," I say his name.

"Hm?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I ask, needing to know.

"_Wrong_," he repeats, shrugging. "They say nothing is necessarily _wrong_. They don't want me thinking about it like that. They say it's a bunch of things that have piled up over the years. They say I have borderline personality disorder. Everyone is different but my symptoms include: sensitivity to rejection, fear of abandonment, self-harm, suicidal behaviour, unmanageable emotions, dissociation, depression, anxiety, anger. I demonize myself. I even demonize other people when I'm not busy putting them up on a pedestal. That's what I do to you. I can't fucking help it. I need attention. I fucking crave it. I feel too intensely, whether it's negative or positive emotions. For me, there's not really a spectrum. There are only extremes. I desperately try to avoid rejection by doing ridiculous things. I drink too much and I have unsafe or capricious sex with multiple partners. My dangerous behaviours relieve my pain and then I feel guilty. It's a vicious cycle. Blah, blah, blah, blah. That's what my doctors say, at least. The doctors don't know what caused it. Some think that it might be related to my PTSD which went untreated after Ike's death. Others think that it goes deeper. I think it's just genetic. Apart from that, I also have anger management problems. I get rages and they're triggered when things don't go my way. Manic episodes, too. I was probably stuck in one for a while and no one knew because no one was paying attention to me."

"Oh," I croak before softly adding, "I guess that makes sense… Shit."

"Someday I'll be able to leave," he says hopefully, "but I'll probably still need psychotherapy… and the pills they're making me take. Antipsychotics. Ha. I'm psychotic?"

"You're not," I offer but he just wrinkles his nose and shrugs.

"Do you still love me?" he asks.

"Yes," I admit. "I probably always will."

"I'm sorry," he says.

"Me, too," I admit, forcing a bitter laugh.

He smiles at me, albeit sadly. "You shouldn't come back here, Stan. Try to move on. Try to… Fuck, try to reach for something better than me. I don't deserve a guy like you. You deserve someone who is going to treat you like a king and not take advantage of your kindness."

"I don't care," I whisper. "I don't care what I deserve…"

"I do," Kyle says. "I've been thinking a lot… I mean, shit, I've hurt you so many times. I've made you cry so many times. I fucked up irreparably."

"I forgive you," I tell him.

He closes his eyes. "I knew you would…" he confesses, "but we can't keep this going, can we? God, I don't want to keep hurting you but I know I will. I'm not okay. I have so much shit I need to work through. It's not just because I'm sick. It's because I have so much fucking blame, too. I'm fitful. There's so much I need to fix. I need to put that first."

"Yeah," I agree quietly. I know he's right, but I'm not ready to let him go.

"Hopefully I'll be better someday," he continues. "When I am, I'll come find you."

"Promise?" I ask.

"Promise," he says.

But maybe he's lying.

I take a shuddery breath, trying to tell myself this is a good thing. As things are, me and Kyle are a toxic combination. Kyle stands up and holds out his hand. I accept it, standing in front of him.

"So, this is it," I say.

"Mhm," he agrees. With a sigh, he reaches for my shoulders, enveloping me into a gentle hug. "Fuck, I love you."

"I love you, too," I tell him, resting my forehead against his chest and locking my arms around his back. I could stay like this forever. It feels nice. It feels easy. I wish it could have always been this easy. Then maybe we wouldn't have to say goodbye.

We stay glued together for many long minutes, like neither of us wants to let go. When we finally part, he forces yet another smile and squeezes my shoulders. "Be brave, Stan," he says.

"Goodbye, Kyle," I whisper, forcing myself to be the first to turn away.

I walk into the waiting room to get my mom and the two of us leave silently. I start bawling in the parking lot because I feel so conflicted.

* * *

><p>The drive back feels shorter than the drive there. Maybe it's because I'm no longer a nervous mess. This is closure, in a way. It's all the closure I'll ever get. I feel like so much of what Kyle was is now gone. Maybe it'll never come back. So, I don't hate Kyle because he's not even here for me to hate. I thought I would, though. Before setting eyes on him, I thought I'd resent him for trying to end his life… but I don't. I just feel melancholic. If everything didn't go to shit, we could have been together. It's stupid. You always realize important things when it's too late.<p>

So, I'll try not to think about it. I'll try not to dwell. I'll try to feel only the good things. I'll try to move on.

"There is room for mistakes," my mother used to tell me, but I've made so many. I doubt there's room for more.

Try, try, try. It's all I can do now, right?

When we get home, I force myself to eat even though my stomach is still knotted from my visit with Kyle. I won't force myself to smile. Not yet.

When night comes, I climb up the stairs and move into the bathroom. I feel heavy, like I weigh a thousand pounds, but I know it's just my mind weighing me down with all the stupid, little thoughts invading. Like always, I try to push them away.

I ready myself for sleep, climbing into bed. I close my eyes and drift, drift, drift.


	10. Epilogue

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**And here is the end! Big thanks to everyone who left me nice reviews :) enjoy the epilogue! **

* * *

><p><strong>Winter.<strong>

It's the first of January. My resolution is to smile more. I feel like it's something I don't ever do.

I'm twenty-five years old and it's the start of yet another new year. I'm no longer a kid and I'm no longer fucking myself over with everything I do. I live an easy life, to be honest. I live in a townhouse with Kenny and Craig. They're two people I haven't lost touch with as the years went by.

The house is modest: two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a living room and a kitchen. I have to listen to Kenny and Craig hump a lot, but that's fine. I'm just glad they're happy.

My bedroom is a reflection of my mental health. Sometimes it's tidy and nice and other times it's completely fucked up and messy to the point where I can't find a damn thing. Then again, there are also times when I keep it tidy just to compensate for how messy I feel inside.

Token and Nichole are engaged. So are Clyde and Bebe. We still see them quite a lot. Token and Nichole are both doctors while Clyde teaches kindergarten and Bebe is a hair stylist.

Wendy and Cartman are still around, too. Wendy is a social worker, which I find befitting. She wants to change things for the better and help people. Cartman works for a bank. He ended up marrying Wendy a few years ago. They have two kids. Craig works at the front desk for a veterinary clinic and Kenny works in the call center still. It works for him since he's good at talking to people.

And me? I'm a waiter at a restaurant. It fucking sucks and I hate it, but I make good tip money. I work a lot and I'm good at my job, but that doesn't stop it from sucking.

New Year's was spent in my room alone reading. I've been reading a lot lately. It's true what they say – when you read books, you live tons of lives. I like that. It's definitely not the same as watching a television show or a movie. I never used to care for reading. I suppose, for me, it's yet another healthy distraction. I think that's okay. Craig likes to read, too. His favorites are Mark Twain, Frances Hodgson Burnett and JD Salinger, but I could never get into the classics. I've been into fantasy and strange surrealism lately. Haruki Murakami is prime and I think I must have reread the _Harry Potter_ series at least ten times.

I knew it'd be best if I avoided parties. I literally cannot be around people who are drinking. I've relapsed quite a few times in the past years and being around people who are drinking makes me want to drink, too. But I can't. I have no sense of moderation. I always overdo it and end up on the floor with my legs open. Then the morning after is full of regret and sickness.

Craig and Kenny went out. Craig drove him home around 3AM. Kenny was drunk as a sailor, but he's usually a peppy drunk. Until this day Craig doesn't drink, so he's always the designated driver.

Now Craig is tending to Kenny's hangover. Kenny has been whining and moaning for most of the morning. Kenny always overdoes it on New Year's.

"How is he?" I ask when I turn into the living room.

Kenny is lying on the three-seater sofa with a blanket draped over him. Craig is sitting next to him, tending to his every want and need. "Annoying," Craig answers and Kenny just lets out a long groan.

I stifle a smile, turning into the kitchen and taking the pitcher of OJ out of the fridge. I pour myself a glass and sip. I've been running lately. I avoid gyms because I don't like being watched, but we have an old treadmill in our basement that I've started to use. Healthy distractions. Me and Craig use it, but Kenny prefers the gym.

"Stan, are you doing anything tonight?" Craig asks me out of the blue.

"Yes," I say, "but nothing important. I can cancel if you need me to watch him."

Craig smiles faintly. "I wouldn't ask, but I have to be at work around two until closing hour. Do you mind?"

I return the smile and shake my head.

"Craig, I don't need Stan to babysit me," Kenny says in a hoarse mutter.

"Look, I don't want you drowning in your own vomit," Craig tells him, rubbing his cheek. "You'll probably feel better after you puke."

"Aw," Kenny coos. "Does that mean you care about me?"

Craig scoffs. "We're married."

They were the first to get married, believe it or not. After two years of smooth dating, Kenny popped the question. They got matching rings – simple and gold. Kenny even took Craig's last name. Now they're Craig and Kenny Tucker. Kenny has the family he always wanted. Ha. Well, good for them. I know how happy they are. They forewent children and settled on adopting a couple cats instead. One is white and one is black. Naturally, Craig named them Salt and Pepper.

Since moving in with them, I've witnessed a handful of Craig's seizures and, at times, I've had to help see him through them. The first time it happened, Craig and I were alone in the house. I was in the kitchen but I heard a bang. I ran upstairs and saw him on the floor. Like Kenny, I felt panicked, but I was prepared. As soon as I moved in with them, I wanted to know what I could do to help. They don't happen as frequently these days. I know Craig finds that relieving.

"Does that mean you like me?" Kenny asks, feigning neediness.

"I _love_ you," Craig corrects, "even when you're all hung over and gross."

"You guys are so romantic," I cut in with a simper.

"Ah, yes, modern romance," Craig snort, sitting up. "I need to get ready for work. Thanks again, Stan."

"Sure," I say. I take Craig's seat and stare down at Kenny. His eyes are closed and there's a crease in his brow. Clearly, he's in pain. "Was it worth it?"

"Hell yeah," he says.

"Well, I'm glad," I tell him.

"Hey," he starts offhandedly, opening an eye. "Does it bother you when I drink?

"No," I admit truthfully. Besides, in all honesty, Kenny doesn't drink that much these days. He definitely doesn't drink as much as he used to. Maybe he doesn't feel the need to. For that, I'm glad. "So, do you want me to grab you anything?"

"Another glass of water," he says, "and maybe an ice pack."

"You got it," I reply, sitting up and moving into the kitchen. I fill up his glass before fetching an ice pack from the freezer. When I return to the living room, Kenny sits up and sips on the water for a few minutes. When he puts it on the table, he lies back down and I press the ice pack to his forehead.

"Thanks, Staaaan…" he mumbles groggily.

"Sure, Kenny," I say.

I don't mind doing this. I don't mind caring for him or caring for Craig. It happens a lot less with Craig, though. Sometimes they'll fight. I'll be on the other side of the wall listening to them argue and cry. The fights never last, but Craig is emotionally volatile and when he's angry at Kenny I'll have to try and talk some sense into him. They always make up, though. Then they have loud, obnoxious sex. I guess it's normal to fight every once in a while.

"What were you going to do tonight?" Kenny pries, closing his eyelids.

"Go see a friend," I decide to be vague.

"Is that code for sex?" he asks.

"Yes," I admit, "but I'll reschedule for tomorrow."

"You're okay, Stan… aren't you?"

"Yes," I say, rolling my eyes and sighing. "Sex is no longer a form of self-harm for me. It's just something I want."

"Want?" he asks. "Or do you feel like you need it?"

"Okay, okay, stop analyzing me," I tell him, pinching his ear.

"Ow," he whines, opening his eyes and staring up at me. He wrinkles his nose and adds, "You don't talk much anymore… about anything."

"About Kyle, you mean?" I ask him knowingly.

I never ended up seeing Kyle again. He's something I try not to think about. He's something I feel like I've moved on from until I give it too much thought. Then I realize I'm still in love, but who the hell knows if the guy I love still exists? Something tells me he doesn't and something tells me that it's okay.

Honestly, I don't even know if Kyle is alive. Sometimes I see Sheila and Gerald around. Gerald looks weary and Sheila looks twice as bad. I guess that's what happens when you lose a child. I can't really imagine it… but I'd like to think that Kyle wouldn't put them through that twice. Though, in the end, he doesn't owe them that. Especially not his mother.

Kenny closes his eyes once more and smiles faintly. "Yes, about him."

"Because he's gone," I say. "He's been gone for a long fucking time."

And it's true. Even before he was physically gone, he was mentally gone. He was slowly disintegrating and I barely noticed. I always get sad thinking about it, but I keep moving.

"As long as he's in your head, you'll never be okay," Kenny points out. "It's not healthy."

"I know that," I respond.

But, as bad as it sounds, part of me thinks I'm okay with that and I'd probably die to see him again.

* * *

><p>Kenny doesn't end up puking. He dry heaves a bit, but then he falls asleep. Craig returns around 9PM, kicking off his shoes, hanging up his coat and dropping his bag on the ground.<p>

"Did he throw up?" is the first question he asks.

"No," I snort. "He'll be fine, though. He just coughed a bit and then went to sleep. He seemed to go easy, so he must've felt a bit better."

"Good," he murmurs, approaching Kenny's side and pushing the blond hair away from his tanned face.

"You don't mind it, do you?" I ask him.

He glances at me. "I don't mind what?"

"Cleaning up after him," I say.

Craig shakes his head. "It's like that when you love someone. You remember it, don't you? You were always cleaning up after Kyle."

"Yeah," I admit quietly, "but I could never clean up after myself. Still, his messes were much different than Kenny's."

"True," Craig agrees. "Kenny just makes little messes. He doesn't stress me out."

I smile at the fondness in his tone. I've honestly never seen two people more in love than Craig and Kenny. It's the purest, sweetest kind of love. In the end, they're good for one another.

"Anyway, I'm going to bed," I tell him.

"Thanks again, Stan," I hear Craig say.

I hold up a hand and then head for the stairs. I make my way up and into the bathroom, brushing my teeth, taking a piss and washing my face. I didn't even bother changing out of my pajamas today, but that's fine.

After finishing my nightly business, I cross the hall and kill the lights before flopping into bed.

* * *

><p>I'm still a good fuck… or so I'm told.<p>

Tomorrow night finds me at a man's house. It's no secret as to where the night will lead us.

Sex is fucking easy. Taking off your clothes is fucking easy. Spreading your legs for some guy is fucking easy. Putting it in some guy's ass is fucking easy. Coming is easy. Orgasms are easy. The simplest thing in the world is to fuck away the pain. Because of that, I still fuck carelessly. It's a habit I haven't quite broken. Wendy was my first and last relationship. Sure, I've been on a few dates since then, but none were fantastic enough that I wanted to go out on a second. So, instead, I just have sex. No strings attached. I don't care about the people who fuck me. They're just handsome, kind faces. It's easier this way. Sometimes hook ups last more than one night, but the second they hurt me I cut them out of my life. I have to. I'm not a masochist anymore. I've learned my lesson long ago.

After parting ways with Kyle for the last time, it took me a while to actually have sex with someone again. My friends and parents kept their eyes on me, not wanting me to continue letting old men slip between my legs. Inevitably, my mom found out about that. Wendy told her, but I didn't get angry. I understood why she said it. She was worried. My mom got so fucking sad. I felt guilty, though she kept promising I had no reason to. I don't know if that's true or not.

It's hard to meet guys when you're a recovering alcoholic. I can't go to bars. Bars are bad for me. I'm not yet at the point where I can have one drink and be satisfied. I need to have, like, five. I need to feel it. So, instead of any of that, I hit up dating websites for hook ups. Yeah, it's fucking lame, but I've met a few really nice guys that way. I'm never worried about falling in love with any of them. I haven't felt romantic love for anyone since Kyle.

Tonight is the same as any other night. I called up a guy and we meet up at his flat.

"How are you?" he asks me.

"I'm fine, you?"

"Fine, thanks."

We exchange polite formalities and then we go straight to the bedroom.

His name is Francis. We went to school together, but we never really spoke. He has brown hair and a sturdy build. He's pleasing to look at and he's always nice. Sometimes we'll get coffee and act like we're friends, but at the end of the day this is what we do. It's all right. I like sex when I'm not using it to hurt myself. Sometimes I honestly do feel like sex is something I need. I know it sounds stupid, but that doesn't stop me. I should be able to just jack off and be okay, but no. I need to feel someone else's hands on me. I need to feel someone else inside of me.

But, hey. At least I don't surround myself with shit anymore. My confidence was on the fritz for a long time and it's still not that much better, but at least it's something.

So, I take off my clothes and I get on his bed and I spread my legs. He's a gentle guy and he never points out the scar that still shines clear as day near my navel. For that, I'm always thankful. It's a hard one to explain. I've been with guys who have pushed and pried, needing to know the story behind the cruel mark. I'd have no choice but to tell them. It's still a shameful memory, one I hate reliving. So, I try not to think about it.

Francis hovers over me and I close my eyes.

Soon, the once-quiet room is filled with the sounds of us fucking.

* * *

><p><strong>Spring.<strong>

Winter should be over, but there's still snow on the ground.

I forgave my dad when I was twenty-two, but I still feel shitty about it. Well, perhaps forgiveness isn't the right word. Perhaps I should say I simply accept it. My therapist helped me cope with the fact that things are always going to be shitty between us.

"I know you'll never love me and it's not okay," I had told my dad. "That makes you a shit father… but I've accepted that things won't change."

He didn't seem to care what I had to say, naturally. But things are better, even though they don't seem it. I only have to see my doctor once a month these days.

Today is my monthly appointment with my therapist. She welcomes me with a smile. I smile in return and take a seat in front of her desk. She asks me some questions and I give her answers.

After therapy, I meet up with Firkle.

When I was nineteen, my therapist suggested I become a Big Brother for a teenager in need. So, after much hesitance, I did. That child ended up being Firkle. I almost didn't recognize him. At that point, I hadn't spoken a word to him since my short and embarrassing goth phase. Fortunately, we've both moved on from that scene, but Firkle still has quite a dark personality. I don't really blame him. Apart from that, he still hangs around Michael, Pete and Henrietta. None of them really look all that goth anymore. Every time I see Henrietta she's wearing pencils skirts and blouses. She has an office job and it shows. Pete is rarely out of sweatpants and Michael is about as casual as Firkle. It's strange to see, but I suppose everyone grows up and away from things they once took pride in.

I still remember seeing Firkle for the first time after high school. He cut his hair and was wearing blue jeans and a grey sweatshirt. There was nothing goth about him, but he still turned up his nose as soon as he spotted me. At the time, he was heavily addicted to heroin, which I found really fucking scary. He was thin and sick looking, almost like a corpse walking. I thought for sure that I wouldn't be able to do anything to help ease him. He was stubborn at first, not really wanting to talk to me or be around me… but as the month went by, he eventually warmed up. The first meaningful bit of information he confessed to me was that he was a friend of Ike's. That hit me hard.

"No one knew we were friends," he admitted. "I mean… kids are assholes. He was kind of sporty, big into hockey… and I was still heavy into my goth phase, not wanting to associate with _conformists_. We got paired together for a class project. Cliché, right? Well, that's how it happened… I guess we ended up enjoying it because we kept hanging out. I guess I found him refreshing. He was always so happy and extroverted. I was so introverted. Still, I felt like I could be more myself when I was around him. He kind of brought out the best in those around him."

I sympathized with him. "It sucks you had to hide your friendship from everyone."

Firkle nodded, closing his eyes. I could tell the memories were painful to talk about. "I mean, we were only twelve… Kids aren't supposed to die, y'know?"

"I know," I said softly, agreeing wholeheartedly.

There were times that the tables turned. Instead of me comforting him about Ike, he would comfort me when Kyle crossed my mind. I guess it's funny (in a sad way) that we found one another. It's a strange friendship and it's hardly conventional, but I cherish it.

I walk to Harbucks and stroll into the café, scanning the room until I spot a head of black hair. I move forward and sit across from him. "Hello," I say.

"Hello," he echoes, sipping on his drink.

"What are you drinking?" I ask him.

"Black coffee," he says before pushing a second cup towards me. "I got you a latte."

"Thanks," I say with a smile, taking it. Seeing him now, I never would assume he was once a junky. He looks healthy. Tired, but healthy. "So, how are you?"

"All right," he admits with a shrug. "I quit my job yesterday. Henrietta is letting me bum around with her until I find a new one."

"That's good," I offer. "Any plans?"

He shakes his head. "Wal-Mart was shit. I don't want to work a job like that ever again."

"Hey, why don't you apply at the library?" I ask him. "It would be quiet and you wouldn't have to deal with assholes all day."

He tilts his head to the side. "Hm… Yeah, maybe."

* * *

><p><strong>Summer.<strong>

Firkle does end up working circulation in the library. He seems to like it. He says it's a bit boring, but it's all right. I go see him on his breaks sometimes.

I stop at Harbucks and see Tweek behind the counter. I wave and we exchange smiles before I order. Green tea. Plain. It'll keep me awake. I'm trying to avoid straight coffee.

I nod my thanks when he finishes making it and I sit near the window, leaving through a newspaper.

"Oh, wow!" I hear Tweek exclaim from where I'm seated.

When I look up, I nearly spit out my tea.

Kyle?

His hair is a little shorter, but it's just as curly and his face is unmistakeable. He looks nice. He's wearing a pea coat over what looks like a black suit. He doesn't look sick like he did the last time I saw him… but that doesn't surprise me much. It's been years, after all. He looks handsome and I feel myself staring, but I can't find it in me to look away. I feel like I'm frozen.

He exchanges a few words with Tweek as the blond makes his drink. When he turns to leave, we make eye contact and he hovers, lips parting. For what feels like hours, we simply stare at one another. He looks hesitant, but he decides to approach me.

"Stanley Marsh," he says my name once he's standing by my table.

"Kyle Broflovski," I return.

He gives me a charming smile. "You look good," he compliments.

"So do you," I return. "You look healthy."

"I'm getting there," he says.

"Uh, h-how are you?" I ask him, stuttering like a schoolboy with a crush. "It's been a long time…"

"I've been in and out of clinics for a while, but then I started to get my shit together," he says with a shrug. "I mean, I'm not perfectly okay but I can at least function in society now."

"Why are you back?" I ask him.

"Job transfer," he admits. "Trust me, if I didn't have to be back here I wouldn't be. It'd be best for the both of us, right? We're both older. You probably have a life now. We were stupid kids when we made that stupid promise."

"That's not what I meant," I murmur. "I mean… I'm really glad to see you. I'm glad you seem to be doing okay."

He points to his face and the smile he's wearing. "This is all fake," he says. "I've got good at smiling. It's about the only thing I _can_ fake… but I suppose you're right. On the grand scale, I'm doing okay." He pauses before adding, "I'm sorry if me being back is going to make anything difficult for you."

I just shake my head, forcing a weary smile. "It's comforting to see you."

"Likewise…" he says. "Anyway, I need to head to the office. It was really nice running into you, Stan."

"You, too," I tell him. I watch him walk away and leave the café.

I try not to think much about Kyle. It's like Kenny said to me all those years ago: I forget him and I think I'm moving on, but then I'll remember him and it'll all come back. I'll feel so melancholy. Well, shit. I guess I'm back at square one again.

* * *

><p>"Rumor has it Kyle is back," Kenny says to me later in the night.<p>

"He is," I admit. "I saw him."

Kenny nods slowly and I can tell that he's worried about how this will end… but maybe it doesn't have to end. Maybe it can begin.

* * *

><p><strong>Autumn. <strong>

I turned twenty-six years old yesterday. I feel like I'm a hundred, but I still look like I'm twenty. So, I guess that's all right.

The following day, I see Kyle at Harbucks again and we agree to meet later on. It makes me fucking nervous, but I can't say no.

"Sure," I tell him.

"You free around six?" he asks.

"Yeah, I'm off," I say.

He simply nods. "Happy birthday, by the way," he adds before leaving.

He still remembers.

* * *

><p>When night comes, I'm even more nervous. I scan the area and spot a head of curly, red hair in the corner near the window. I slowly saunter over and sit across from him.<p>

"Stan," he says.

"Hey," I respond.

"I got you tea," he says, pushing a cup towards me. "It's a bit late for coffee."

"Oh, thanks."

I see his sleeve ride up ever so slightly when he hands me the cup. There are a plethora of cuts. Some are scars and some are fresh. Some are across and some are down. It makes me sad that this is still something he does, but I don't say it out loud. Nonetheless, Kyle still has a knack for reading me.

"I guess we need to talk," he says.

"I guess so," I agree.

And this is it. We'll get it all out. I'll say what I want and he'll say what he wants. We'll talk about the things we used to avoid. We'll talk about the important things.

"Mind if I step out for a cigarette first?"

"You still smoke?"

He wrinkles his nose, nodding. "I quit for a few years in my early twenties, but I was going through another rough patch last year and I started again. Stress relief, y'know? I'm trying to cut down again… but it's challenging."

"Yeah," I whisper, picking up my cup and following him outside of the café. He pulls out a cigarette, lighting it and inhaling. He wraps an arm around himself in an almost self-conscious manner. It's strange to see him looking so meek.

"I never meant to hurt you so fucking badly," he says suddenly. "I didn't mean to be so selfish and manipulative. I mean... I didn't feel like I was acting that way. It was just how I was feeling. I was sad and desperate and so fucking scared and when my worst fear came true, I guess I kind of lost it. I always let my emotions rule me."

I frown, staring off to the side. "What was your worst fear?" I ask, though I already know the answer.

"I didn't want you to leave," he confesses. "It fucking killed me that you did. You were honestly all I had. I guess it wasn't fair of me. I put too much pressure on you and I depended on you too much."

"I'm sorry," I say sincerely.

He just shakes his head. "It wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't yours, either," I tell him. "I understand more now. I never used to understand that you weren't just faking these emotions to get what you wanted. What you were feeling was valid. It was real. You were scared."

"Yeah," he says softly. "I just wish I could have found it in me to see a doctor sooner. I learned everything the hard way. I feel like I could have saved you a lot of pain. Myself, too. I could have saved myself a lot of pain, too."

"What helps you now?" I ask as I watch him. "I mean… How do you bring yourself back down when you're having an episode or when you're worrying about stuff?"

He takes a long drag. "Well," he starts, puffs of smoke leaving his mouth, "If someone is bothering me… and I feel myself growing paranoid or mad, I try to remind myself that they're irrational thoughts. With the mania, my pills help. I still get episodes, but they're more spread out and they don't happen as much."

"That's good," I say softly.

He forces a faint smile. "I got my GED," he continues. "I thought it'd be in my best interest. So, now I work at a bank. Unfortunately, our branch isn't doing so well so I got transferred back here."

"Ah," I sympathize. "You're working with Cartman, then?"

"Yeah," he says with a nod. "I saw him for the first time last week. I usually stay in my office, but I decided to step out and get coffee. He called me out in the break room. I think he was surprised. He looked at me and shouted, 'Jew! Is that you?' Heh…"

"Yeah, that sounds like him," I chuckle.

"Weird as it sounds, it was pleasantly familiar to hear him call me that," Kyle admits with a faint smile.

After a few minutes, he finishes his cigarette and we move back inside. We take our seats once more and sit across from one another, simply staring at each other's faces.

"What now?"

"Whatever you'd like," he answers. "If you have any questions, don't be shy."

"Can I ask you anything I want?"

"Of course," he says.

"Do you feel better than you did last time we were together?" I start.

He tilts his head to the side thoughtfully. "I've had my medications changed a few times," he admits. "I've taken a few kinds of antipsychotics that just made things worse. Luckily I was still in a hospital at that point so I couldn't really go out and get into trouble. The ones I was taking when we last saw one another made me really… empty, for lack of a better word… but I suppose that there are times I still feel that way." A pause. "Some days I don't even remember what kinds of books I like to read and what kind of music I like listening to," he admits.

"Jeez," I whisper. "I'm sorry. That sounds shitty."

"You and I both have a shitty sense of self," he says. "Sometimes I go through periods where I literally don't feel anything at all. I'm often too dissociated to remember things about myself and you're still in the process of trying to put yourself back together due to your depression." A pause. "Was that a rude thing to say?"

I give him a faint smile. "No. You're right. Depression drains you and I feel like I'm still trying to regain the knowledge of exactly who I was before it got bad."

"Yeah," he murmurs. "Did it get worse when we parted?"

I stare down at my hands. "I remember getting very upset as soon as I left your room… but somehow, you offered me closure. I guess I was just glad to finally get to talk to you again. Talking… is something we kind of stopped doing."

"Yeah," he murmurs again. "I'm so, so sorry, Stan…"

I just shake my head. "It's okay, Kyle. I always forgive you."

"Always?"

"Yeah, always."

"Hm," he muses. "There were days in the past where I wished you wouldn't. When we parted with each other, a piece of me wished you'd stick around for a little while longer and say something really mean to me. I felt like I sincerely deserved it."

"I'm not that kind of person," I tell him.

He smiles again. "I know. That's what makes you better than me. That… and so much more."

"You're not a bad person, Kyle," I insist.

He stares away from me and down at the table. "I am, though."

"You're not," I insist again.

"Well, maybe I'm not a bad person," he relents, "but I'm not good, either… and I'm not saying this to get sympathy or reassurance… Well, that's a lie. Maybe I am."

I reach across the table and take his hand, holding it in mine. "It's fine. You're more honest now, I can see it."

"It's something I've been trying to do," he says. "Be more honest. Tell the truth. Talk about my feelings or lack thereof."

"Good," I say with approval. "That's a really good thing, Kyle."

"I'm not angry anymore," he adds. "I guess the pills kind of helped mellow me out through the years, though I'm still a bit of a negative person. I try to be positive, it just proves to be a challenge."

"I understand that," I empathize.

"Death and life. War and peace. Sickness and health. Pain and numbness. Bad and good. All these binary oppositions… Does any of it matter?" he asks before simply shrugging. I already know he isn't truly asking for an answer. He's just asking me to listen. So, I simply give a thoughtful nod. "Do you still pray?" he asks me after a pause.

"Yes," I admit.

"Why?"

"I like to think there are reasons for things and that higher power has plans for everyone," I say. "Maybe the plan might not affect you, but it can affect the people around you, y'know? It's like… sometimes bad things happen and they're lessons. Perhaps everything is just a lesson. Life, death, war, peace, sickness, health, pain, numbness… Bad things." I stop before I get ahead of myself and finish with, "I know there are answers I'll never get to hear, but when I'm lost, I still like to seek guidance. I like to believe that everything is worth it in the end, no matter how much it may hurt. I guess it's comforting to me."

Kyle nods his head. "Me, too," he says weakly, staring down at our hands before staring back up at me. I remember finding him in the synagogue all those years ago. He was lost then. Maybe he's still lost now. "Does it ever help you?" he asks. "Praying?"

"Sometimes," I tell him, though I'm not so sure.

"Life is disappointing," Kyle murmurs. "All these lessons you talk about… They are cruel. I could have happily gone my whole life not knowing what it felt like to see my brother die. What kind of lesson was that? What did that teach me? I don't fucking know."

"Me neither," I whisper.

"Maybe, in ways, it made me stronger," Kyle admits as an afterthought, "but the cost of what little strength I gained wasn't worth it."

"Yeah," I say softly, unsure what else to offer him.

"I found out I was going to be transferred back here in May," Kyle confesses. "I took the following weekend off and I came back for a couple days. I rented a hotel and I went to visit Ike's grave for the first time since the funeral. I told him I was sorry. I thought I could do it without crying because so much time has passed… but I didn't, ha… I fucking bawled. I could barely get the words out I was crying so fucking hard. But I knew it wouldn't be the same if I just said them in my head… because I had been saying the words in my head for years. It never made me feel better. I wanted to be near him. I wanted him to hear it… but I guess that's fucking stupid. I stood in front of a headstone. I stood over a corpse. I told it I was sorry. Yet, still, it somehow made me feel better than all the other times I've said it. After that, I called my father. I didn't want to see my mother, so I just swung by his office and had lunch with him. He said he was happy to see me. He seemed it and I was relieved. I had prepared myself for the worst, but it never came." He pauses and sighs. "I really love my father. I love my mother, too... but sometimes I wonder why I don't hate her."

"It's understandable that you love them both," I tell him gently. "They're your parents. It's hard to hate your parents, even when they're cruel."

Kyle smiles a small smile, nodding his head slowly. "I guess it's true what they say… you never leave South Park. It always calls you back."

"Yeah," I say softly.

"Seeing my dad made me feel better," he admits. "I felt so alone for all those years. I allowed work to consume me. I wasn't very social. People I worked with hated me for acting cold, but I mean… I was the office asshole, but people who work at banks aren't typically friendly as it is."

"True," I say with a small chuckle.

I suppose it makes sense why Kyle feels better. Ike died around May. Kyle needed a good memory to replace the bad one. Well, perhaps _replace_ isn't the right word. You can't ever truly replace memories. Perhaps grief can't be replaced, either. It can't be replaced with good feelings. Instead, it becomes a part of who you are and it becomes something you need to deal with. You live with it. You just live.

"Can I ask you a question now?" Kyle wonders somewhat airily.

"Yeah," I permit.

"Do you love me?"

"Yeah," I say again.

"Still?"

"I never stopped."

He smiles faintly. "Me, neither."

* * *

><p><strong>Winter. <strong>

Kyle broke apart from us when we were kids, but we're all sitting together right now. It feels the way it felt when we were ten years old… but we're not children anymore. We're men.

We've been seeing a lot of him lately and I can tell there's a difference, though it's not the kind of difference I once thought I'd hope for. He still isn't the way I remember him when we were young. I doubt I'll ever meet that Kyle again. He probably died… but I like this Kyle, too. I don't feel the need to mourn.

We're at the house I share with Kenny and Craig. Eric, Wendy and Kyle came over and we're sitting in the living room. No liquor. Just us.

I listen for the most part. Wendy and Cartman talk about their engagement, their wedding and their children. The engagement was unceremonious. It was something they spoke about for a long time and eventually decided on mutually. The wedding was very dramatic because of Cartman's fat, redneck relatives whining about him marrying an Arabic girl. Then came the kids. Naturally, Wendy kept her last name and the children's names are hyphenated.

"What about you and Craig?" Kyle asks Kenny afterward.

Kenny smiles faintly. "We were twenty. We were living together with Stan by then, but he was asleep by the time we got home. So, I decided it was now or never. I was hella nervous, but I pushed it aside. As soon as I got down on my knee, Craig started cussing. When I pulled out the ring, he started crying."

"Shut up," Craig nudges him. "You could have spared that detail."

Kenny snickers, wrapping his arms around his husband. "No, that's my favorite part," he says.

"Your crying woke me up," I decide to add. "I thought you guys were breaking up."

Kenny snorts. "Nah, basically the opposite of that."

I smile a small smile and Kyle chuckles, adding, "That's a pretty cute story."

Kenny nods proudly.

Everyone continues catching up and it feels so fucking… right. It feels like this is how things should have always been, but I know it's not possible. I know there will be some days that suck and other days that'll be worse. I know sometimes I'll feel like shit. Sometimes Kyle will feel like shit. Sometimes we won't want to be near each other. Sometimes we won't be able to be near each other… but right now, I know I still want him. I guess I always knew that it wasn't gonna go away. I hope, no matter what happens, that we can still have days like this.

Maybe I understand why Kyle wanted to kill himself. It's a shitty world and it's even harder when shitty things keep happening to you. Even if an angel was brought down to earth, I think she'd want to die.

* * *

><p>The following night, it's just me and Kyle. We met at Harbucks after work again. It's something we've been doing a lot. He drives me home around nine and the car ride is comfortably silent until he starts to speak.<p>

"Hanukkah starts soon," he murmurs.

"Who are you celebrating with?" I ask, glancing at him as he stares at the road.

He smiles faintly. "Myself. I can't really be around my parents during the holidays. We all just get fucking miserable."

I frown at that. "You're alone during the holidays?"

He nods and shrugs. "I'm used to it by now. It's not so bad. There's time for reflection, I suppose. As bad as it sounds, I don't really celebrate. I haven't touched a menorah in a long time, but I often find myself at the synagogue. It's the one place where I feel truly at peace."

"That's a good thing, Kyle," I promise him. "It's not a bad thing to have faith."

"Yeah," he agrees quietly.

"How about I celebrate with you this year?" I offer.

"Really?" he whispers the question.

"Really," I say. "We'll do Hanukkah at your house and Christmas at mine."

He glances at me quickly from the corner of his eye before returning his gaze to the streets. "Thanks, Stan. That would be really fucking nice."

The ride is silent again and soon we pull into my driveway. I want to kiss him before I go, but it might be too soon. It might be wildly stupid of me, but there's something so quiet and so cautious about him. He's so handsome and he's kinder these days and I want him to stay in my life. I don't want him leaving ever again.

So, I take off my seatbelt and before I reach for the door I turn to him. "Kyle?" I say his name in a questioning tone and when he turns to face me I lean into him. I place an open-mouthed kiss on his lips and then I draw back.

"What was that for?" he asks hoarsely, touching his fingertips to his lips.

"I wanted to," I tell him. The innocent confession makes me feel like a child again, but it's true.

"We could do it right this time," he says quietly.

I can't help but smile. "Could we?"

"Maybe," he says. "We… We could try."

"Yeah," I say softly.

"So… um, friends?" he asks.

"Yes," I respond with another smile.

Friends and perhaps someday we can be something more.

**Fin.**


End file.
